


Reach the Shore

by miss_zedem



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020), The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Male Character, Established Relationship, Friendship, Gay Male Character, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Jewish Character(s), M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28759182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_zedem/pseuds/miss_zedem
Summary: Thirty years is a long time to owe someone an explanationorThe West Wing/911: Lone Star crossover literally nobody asked for.
Relationships: Josh Lyman & Owen Strand, Josh Lyman & Sam Seaborn, Josh Lyman/Matt Santos, Josh Lyman/Sam Seaborn
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Reach the Shore

**Austin, 2020**

The cough had been building since they’d cleared the final house. Owen paused in his sweeping and glanced around to check that all the news crews and assorted onlookers had dispersed before finally giving into it, pressing one hand against his crackling chest and leaning heavily on the broom handle as three days of crud worked its way loose.

If the immediate aftermath of the tornado had been all about dramatic rescues, the following days had been characterised by the far more grim but no less necessary task of recovery and clean-up, with every firefighter in the city pulling extra hours to help the other workers and volunteers get things back to some kind of normal.

The layer of post-catastrophe dust and the lingering smell of death were unfortunately familiar enough, even if the cause was a new one to Owen - and, according to Judd, not as bad as it could have been. In thirty years on this job he’d never gotten used to that particular smell, but he _had_ learned a long time ago to push his revulsion to one side and focus on doing what needed to be done. 

“You okay, Dad?” It said something about how tired he was - or perhaps how hard he’d been coughing - that he hadn’t noticed TK’s approach until his son was right next to him, the steady weight of his hand comforting on Owen’s shoulder even through the layers of protective gear they were both wearing. “Here. Have some of this.”

Owen blinked at the proffered water bottle, before tugging his gloves off and accepting it. “Thanks, TK,” he managed, voice deeper and more hoarse than he’d have liked, but at least not as breathless as he’d thought it might be. The water was cool and did actually help, and he smiled at the sweet gesture. “It’s just all the dust around the place. Are you guys almost -”

His question was interrupted by the chirp of a police siren, making him frown and twist around to find the source. The sight of two motor units followed by an imposing black town car and two more motor riders did nothing to lessen that - had he missed an email about the mayor or the governor coming to visit fire crews? He knew from New York that politicians just freaking _loved_ being seen at clean-ups, but there was none of the usual press entourage with this one, whoever it was. 

Suppressing a sigh - and gah, he _had_ to stop doing that given the way it just made him cough and fumble for his water again - Owen handed TK the broom and started towards the road, throwing a stern “did I tell you guys to stop?” over his shoulder at his crew as he went. What the hell were the names of his new local dignitaries? 

The small procession rolled to a halt, engines still ticking quietly as a dark-suited agent stepped out of the car and went to open the rear door and - 

Owen stopped walking, suddenly unsure his legs were going to keep holding him up as a familiar face he hadn’t seen in person for decades stepped smoothly from the gloomy interior. The hair was mostly white with age now, the beard new since the most recent photos Owen had seen, but there was no mistaking -

“Josh,” he breathed, fingers tightening unconsciously on the water bottle he still held. Okay, he’d definitely missed an email, because clear-up or no clear-up, there was no way the brass wouldn’t have warned him that the former First Gentleman of the United freaking States was in town. 

“Captain Strand!” Josh called jovially, that famous disarming grin in place, and right arm raised in greeting. 

Owen raised his own hand in automatic reply, removing his dust-coated helmet and finally finding the wherewithal to move his feet again and pick his way cautiously towards the parked vehicles.

“Sorry to drop in on you folks unannounced like this.” Josh was striding towards him, seemingly oblivious to the agents spanning out in a starburst formation around him. “We were visiting with a homeless center up the road there, and someone mentioned that your crew was working just around the corner so we figured -” 

He stopped as suddenly as Owen had, eyes widening as their gazes met.

“Holy shit - Sam?!” Josh’s voice went up through several octaves, causing the agents nearest him to snap to even greater alertness, something even Josh couldn’t miss. “Guys, no - relax. It’s fine. I know him.” He took several steps forward, narrowly missing a wayward chunk of masonry as he stretched both arms out, eyes never leaving Owen’s. 

There had to be protocol here - had to be - but Owen was damned if he knew what it was. Two more steps and he was right there, the water bottle dropping to the ground as he clasped both Josh’s hands and let himself be pulled into a bone-crushing hug, a hug he simply accepted for entire seconds before returning it just as tight. Tears burned the back of his eyes, his breath caught, and wholly inappropriate laughter bubbled in his already-aching chest.

“Mr Lyman-Santos,” he managed, quiet and scratchy, tongue tripping on the name that was simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar. Whatever else Josh was - or had been - he was the former First Gentleman, and that still meant something.

“Sam,” Josh repeated, his own voice less than steady as he finally released Owen and stepped back to look at him properly. 

Owen took a shaky breath, glancing over his shoulder, completely unsurprised to find his crew stopped working and openly staring at their little exchange.

“Actually, it’s Owen,” he corrected, still quiet, still hoarse, but keeping that eye contact and mentally begging Josh to still be good at reading him, even after all this time. “Captain Owen Strand.”

Questions crowded Josh’s expressive face, but he simply nodded once, smile slipping back to something more public as he visibly shifted mental tracks. Owen could see his sharp gaze assessing whether the crew could have heard them, saw the minute relaxation as he realised they were just slightly too far away, and caught the equally sharp glance back that said there’d be a big conversation in Owen’s near future.

“Would you like to come and meet my crew?” he asked more loudly, already turning before he could do something stupid like hug Josh again. 

“I’d love to.” Josh clasped Owen’s shoulder, that familiar friendly gesture that had gotten him into hot water with foreign dignitaries and press alike on more than one occasion, and followed him along the cleared path, serious-faced agents trailing their every step.

~~~

**Washington DC, 1986**

“So, you’re the kid who wrote this, huh?” 

‘This’ was a joint press-release that had fallen to Sam to write, after it turned out that the actual writers in his office were, apparently, too busy and/or important to deal with it.

He squirmed uncomfortably in the guest chair, wishing fervently that he’d thought to go to the bathroom before coming to this meeting.

“That’s me,” he agreed. “Although, if I can just point out, I’m not a kid - I’m a Princeton grad -”

The dismissive hand wave stopped him in his tracks. People didn’t usually react that way to the name ‘Princeton’, and Sam dropped it often enough to know.

“Yeah, yeah.” Not so much as a glance up. “So you have an Ivy League degree. Don’t we all.”

And okay, who the hell was this guy? “Actually, I’m reasonably certain that’s not true.” Amused brown eyes finally looked up from the printout, but Sam dug his metaphorical heels in. “While it’s not unusual for congressional staffers - and the population in general - to have some sort of post-high school qualification, the Ivy League universities remain relatively elite, not to mention expensive, and thus uncommon as almæ matres even in Washington.”

The older man was openly grinning at him now, a boyishly charming expression that Sam was point blank refusing to be, well, charmed by.

“Almæ matres?” he parroted. “Are you actually kidding me right now?”

Sam scowled. “Well, there are those who insist on Anglicising ‘alma mater’ using just the English ‘s’ plural, but I’ve always preferred -”

“Stop, please - I’m begging you.” The man placed the press release on his desk before leaning back in his chair, hands covering his face and shoulders shaking with laughter. “Man, okay, we should start over - hi, I’m Josh Lyman, chief of staff to Congressman Earl Brennan.” He dropped his hands and grinned widely. “My ‘almæ matres’ are Harvard and Yale - but since it’s been more than a month since I graduated, I don’t feel the need to insert that into every conversation, Sam Seaborn from Princeton.”

Oh. _Oh_. “Harvard _and_ Yale?” That wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but honestly. “Isn’t that a little excessive?”

Josh laughed, apparently unoffended. “Probably,” he agreed. “But I’ve learned to live with it.”

The easy arrogance was substantially less annoying once accompanied by those dimples, and Sam couldn’t help but smile back. “That’s very noble of you.”

“I’m a noble guy.”

“You know, I heard that about you.” Oh god, was he _flirting_? “Noble, modest…”

“Modesty’s just one of my many attributes.” Josh’s grin was part-flirtatious, part-challenging, like he was willing to jump either way depending on how Sam responded to it. 

Sam raised an eyebrow, and let his gaze trail slowly from Josh’s messy auburn curls, over his broad shoulders, down to his flat stomach and back up to meet his eyes. He might not be totally sure of himself in Washington yet, but here at least was something he was good at.

“Many, huh?”

The challenge had fallen from Josh’s expression some time during Sam’s frank appraisal, but the grin remained. “You don’t look convinced.”

“Perhaps I just need to see more of them.” He met Josh’s grin with a smile of his own. 

The sudden jangle of a phone ringing in the outer office shattered whatever ‘moment’ they were having, and Sam dropped his gaze quickly. Christ, what was he doing? This was a chief of staff - and okay, fine, Brennan’s staff wasn’t the largest on the Hill, but it was still several grades higher than Sam.

Across the desk, Josh let out a whoosh of air, and Sam heard the shuffle of paper as he picked up the press release again.

“Okay, Seaborn - let’s do this thing so that I can actually get out of here before 9 tonight.” 

When Sam looked up, the playful, flirty Josh was gone, and in his place was a sharp and focused politician that suddenly made a whole lot more sense in this office, in this _role_. 

“Good idea,” he agreed, resisting the urge to ask if there was a reason Josh wanted to be finished by that time. Quirkily attractive chiefs of staff were a complication he definitely didn’t need right now, no matter how infuriatingly charming they were.

~~~

**Austin 2020**

The remainder of the shift passed less eventfully; the crew had accepted Josh’s explanation of the hug as his recognising Owen from a fundraiser back in New York, which had been plausible given the former First Gentleman’s well-publicised and vocal support of the families of those first responders lost in 9/11. Apparently Josh had gotten a better poker face in the past 30-odd years - there hadn’t been so much as a twitch to betray the fact he’d made the story up on the spot - and if their parting handshake had lingered a little longer than might be considered usual, nobody other than the Secret Service agents had seemed to notice.

Even TK hadn’t pushed, and Owen spared a moment to wonder if he should be concerned by that before shrugging and heading for his kitchen to check what groceries they needed. He was halfway through his list when the doorbell sounded unexpectedly. Had he missed an SMS? They didn’t know many people in Austin yet, and of those they did, nobody usually called on them, especially not during the daytime - unless TK had forgotten his - 

“Oh, hi!” Owen recognised the Secret Service agent on his doorstep as one from the previous day. “Can I help you?”

The agent’s neutral expression didn’t change. “I’m to bring you to meet with Mr Lyman-Santos, if you have a couple of hours free this morning, sir?”

Owen snorted. “Well, I’ve just gotten home after a 24 hour shift, but -” Screw it. “Okay, sure - I have a few hours.” At least his jeans were clean and his black t-shirt was almost smart, so all he needed to do was grab his jacket, phone and keys before following the agent out to the car.

By the time they reached the swanky hotel with its old-world feel and modern-world security, he was starting to regret that ease. Sure, it had been great to see Josh yesterday, even better to hug him, however briefly. And if he was honest, he’d been expecting some kind of attempt at contact, some request for an explanation for - well, everything, frankly. But it had been over 30 years since Owen had left. How did any friendship come back from that length of time, let alone one that had ended as abruptly theirs had?

The suite he was ushered to was more lowkey than he’d expected. Still grand, still spacious, and the Secret Service agents by the elevators and the doors definitely gave it that certain something extra - but it didn’t scream ‘presidential’ in the way he’d thought it might.

“He’s just finishing up on a call,” the agent who’d collected him explained, gesturing at the nearby sofa and side table. “Help yourself to whatever you want to eat or drink, or there’s an agent right outside if you need anything else.”

“Got it.” Owen didn’t sit, but he did smile his thanks at the agent, who simply nodded and withdrew in that eerily quiet manner he’d observed the previous day. The table was laden with breakfast items, and Owen hesitated only a few seconds before picking up a glass of green juice labelled ‘vegan’. A cautious sip and - yep, kale, celery, cucumber, green apple. Or perhaps it was spinach rather than kale?

“If there was any doubt before that it was you, Seaborn.” 

Owen spun around quickly at the wry, amused tone, slopping his drink over his fingers and cursing as Josh laughed loudly.

“And there’s the final confirmation.” Josh handed him a paper napkin, voice still laced with that honestly unfair amusement. “Once a klutz, always a klutz, huh?”

“Oh, ha-ha,” Owen snapped, accepting the help - such as it was - and fixing Josh with a glare. “I see your sense of humor didn’t improve any in the time I was gone.” He finished mopping the mess, then froze, his brain finally catching up with the fact that this was the former First Gentleman he was talking to rather than his fellow congressional staffer. “I mean - thank you, Mr Lyman-Santos, sir.”

Josh stared at him, mouth open, before collapsing into gales of laughter, sinking to the sofa as he flapped his hand in Owen’s direction.

“Oh god, your face!” Josh wiped his eyes, still sniggering. “Seriously, Sam - sorry, Owen - sit. You’re fine, I promise.”

Owen did as he was told, perching uncomfortably at the opposite end of the couch and feeling ridiculously like he ought to be more dressed up, even though Josh was dressed as casually as he was in jeans and a soft-looking sweater.

Josh gave him a lop-sided smile. “Do you know how many people still talk to me like you did just now? Pretty much just my husband.” He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “And Donna, of course, my old assistant. Oh, and my friend CJ, and her husband, obviously. And Ronna and Bram from Matt’s staff, and - actually pretty much everyone I ever worked or campaigned with, now that I come to think about it.” He frowned slightly. “I should probably be, like, offended by that or something.”

“Sir -” Owen shook his head, less sure of his footing than he’d been when he walked in.

“Owen, c’mon man, I’m serious - drop the ‘sir’. I want us to talk, and we can’t do that if you’re treating me like someone you’ve just met.”

Owen snorted softly. “It’s been thirty. Two. Years.” He managed not to add the ‘sir’, at least? “To all intents and purposes, we _did_ just meet.” No matter how natural it had been to fall back into the easy pattern of needling each other and ignoring personal space.

Josh gave a little half-shrug, conceding the point. “Okay, so we have some catching up to do.” He propped his elbow against the back of the sofa, head resting on his fist. “And since my life’s been pretty much all over the media for the past fifteen or so of those years, I definitely feel like you ought to go first.”

“I -” Owen floundered helplessly. “How are you so calm about all of this?” His voice was edging towards shrill, but he couldn’t seem to get control of it. “Josh, seriously - I haven’t seen you since 1988 and here you are, acting like I just got back from a holiday weekend or something!” That rattle was back in his chest, his breathing getting ragged, and he stood, slamming the smoothie back on the table before starting to pace. “Did you even know I was alive before yesterday? Or still in the States? Is that why you stopped by my clear-up? Why did you even -” He broke off, unable to hold the cough in any longer, the room swimming as he grabbed the edge of the nearest chair to support himself while it passed.

The strong hands guiding him back to the sofa weren’t a surprise, somehow, and he made no effort to shrug them off. When the coughing fit eased, he didn’t even try to fight the cold glass of water that was pressed into his hand, merely taking a moment to be sure he wasn’t going to start again before taking a cautious sip. God, if the cancer didn’t kill him, his oncologist was going to when she heard about all the crud he’d been inhaling these past couple days.

“Sorry,” he croaked, finally looking up with an apologetic smile. “It’s -” He took a shallow, shaky breath and forced himself to hold eye contact. “Cancer. I have lung cancer.” Another breath, steadier than the last. “It’s pretty mild, at least as far as lung cancer goes. Stage 1b. I mean, obviously in an ideal world I wouldn’t have it at all, but since that’s apparently not an option, it’s about as good as it gets without being, you know. Good.”

And man, he’d thought talking about it would have gotten easier by now. After the way TK had found out he’d promised himself he was taking control of who he told and when - but no, it turned out it still pretty much sucked to say out loud even when it was his choice.

“Jesus, Sam.” There was no trace of humor left on Josh’s face - but no pity either, which Owen was grateful for. “Is it - are you getting treatment? What’s the prognosis?”

“Pretty good, actually.” Owen dredged up a small but hopefully reassuring smile. “I have an amazing oncologist, and I’m going for chemo. There’s - something about containing and controlling it rather than blasting the crap out of it. I don’t know. My doc, she did explain it to me, but I’ll be honest, I pretty much just show up and do what she tells me to do, when she tells me to do it.” After a fashion, at least.

Josh huffed something that was not quite a laugh. “Well, that sounds smart. You should, you know. Keep doing that.”

“For as long as I can,” Owen agreed, finally relaxing back against the sofa. He took another sip of his water, holding it in his mouth a moment just to enjoy the coolness before swallowing and giving Josh a quiet smile. “You knew I was alive.” It wasn’t a question this time.

“I did.” Josh settled himself, tucking one foot up under the opposite leg and hugging a cushion to his chest. The resulting pose made him look years younger, and Owen couldn’t help but let his gaze linger, tracking the similarities and changes brought about by the decades. More lines on his face, of course, a few extra pounds in late middle age, but Owen could definitely see the younger man he’d known underneath. The eyes were the same as he remembered, warm and brown and sharply intelligent, the dimpled grin still visible even through the neatly-trimmed beard that Owen decided suited him. “I did _not_ know for sure where you were, definitely didn’t expect to find you here in Austin of all places, nor did I know what name you were using other than ‘not Sam Seaborn’ - but yes, I knew that you weren’t dead.” 

Owen shifted around so he was mirroring Josh’s pose, albeit clutching his glass rather than a cushion. “Austin’s pretty new,” he admitted. “I was in New York until a couple of months ago.” He’d run, but he hadn’t run far. “You know, when I left DC, I really thought I’d be coming back. I definitely intended to.” Or had hoped to, which maybe wasn’t precisely the same thing. 

“Even though you hated the job?”

“Even so, yep.” He hadn’t hated the people, after all, or at least not most of them. 

Josh gave him a soft smile. “And you weren’t tempted to keep writing?”

Owen shrugged. “I thought about it, sure, but I’d always intended to go to law school, so that’s what I did at first. I’ve never regretted joining the fire service, though, if that’s what you mean.”

“Hey, no - that wasn’t what I meant at all.” Josh’s expression was open, and somehow, Owen believed him. “I think it’s awesome what you do, and there’s no way you would have stuck it all this time if you didn’t love it. I was just curious is all.”

“Right. Sorry.” Owen gave himself a firm mental shake, and retracted the metaphorical quills. “Well, anyway, like I said, I meant to come back to DC, maybe as a lawyer or a lobbyist or something along those lines. Then before I knew it, I’d been gone years, not months, and I was getting married and you were in the freaking _White House_ and the longer it went on, the less easy it became for me to pop back up without causing problems.”

“And we had enough of those as it was,” Josh said wryly, the tightness around his eyes at odds with the slight smile on his lips. “Who knew it was possible to upset so many people by doing so little?”

Owen couldn’t help but grin at that. “Right, what with the Republicans being so famously pro-same sex marriage and all.” 

Josh laughed, that tightness melting away. “I’ll admit our timing could’ve been better. A couple more years and it would’ve been legal in DC - but we didn’t know that at the time. Plus y’know, we were in Connecticut anyway. Not like there’s a whole lot else to do there in November.”

Owen shook his head, still smiling. “You have no idea what you did.” He reached across and clasped Josh’s hand warmly. “No. Idea. My son was fifteen years old when the news broke about you and the president getting married - and it helped him to come out. He saw how his mom and I still supported Santos, how we’d always supported him, and he told us that same weekend.”

“Seriously?” Josh’s expression melted into something pleased and genuinely happy. “That’s so cool. I mean, Matt did most of the really hard work, coming out on the campaign trail and everything - but getting married was my idea, so I’ll totally take the credit.”

“You should.” Owen knew Josh was joking, but he actually did mean every word he said. “Not only that, but because of you guys -” and yeah, fine, all the other activists and lawyers and campaigners “- he can now get married for real when he eventually meets the right guy.”

Josh squeezed Owen’s hand, still smiling. “Why does it not surprise me that you’re a fully paid-up PFLAG dad.”

Owen snorted a laugh. “It would’ve been a little hypocritical of me to have had a problem with him liking men,” he said, finally tugging his hand back. “But I marched in the Pride parade back in New York with him a couple of times, and I’d do it again if - I actually don’t even know if Austin has one, but if they do, I’ll go with him if he wants me there.”

“They have one.” Josh shifted just enough to grab a drink of his own before settling back to face Owen. “Trust me, I’ve spent more time in Texas these past twenty years than I ever imagined in even my most depressing dreams, and I’ve gotten to know it pretty well. Austin’s okay.”

“...for a southern city?” Owen rolled his eyes, amused. “Your New England bias is showing again, Joshua.”

“People who ditch California to spend most of their adult life in the northeast don’t get to criticise others who appreciate life with actual seasons, Samuel.” He shook his head, clearly annoyed with himself. “Shit, I have got to stop _doing_ that. I mean Owen.”

Owen smiled softly. “It’s fine. I mean, nobody’s called me ‘Sam’ for well over half my life, but - I do understand that it’s gonna take you a while.”

Josh frowned at that information. “You didn’t - what happened to your parents?”

And oh, wasn’t that a question with an easy answer. “I made sure they were okay,” he said quietly, taking a sip of his water and hoping Josh would remember enough about his relationship with them to not push that topic any further.

Whatever Josh might or might not have been about to say was interrupted by a discreet but insistent knock at the door. An agent Owen hadn’t seen before - young, black, female - stuck her head in and caught Josh’s eye. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I thought you’d like to know that Badger’s on his way back.”

Josh gave her a warm smile. “Appreciate that, Amanda - thank you.” She nodded, and withdrew as quietly as she’d appeared. “So Matt’s gonna be here in like -” He checked his watch. “- ten minutes, maybe fifteen. You wanna hang out and meet him? Have lunch with us? He’s heard about you for years - he’s gonna be so psyched that you’re here.”

Owen gaped at his old friend. “Are you crazy? I’m not dressed for meeting the former President of the United States!” Feeling presentable enough to meet Josh was not the same thing, at all.

Josh huffed, his expression exaggeratedly patient. “You’re dressed just fine for meeting my husband, dumbass. And yes, admittedly he is,” he waved his hand vaguely, “what you said. But you know what, here’s the thing: he’s also a reservist with the marines, and he’s been flying helicopters to help with the recovery for the past few days. I thought y’all might have something to talk about.”

The unexpected but noticeable Texan spin on that ‘y’all’ - obviously picked up from said husband - made Owen smile despite himself, and he found himself relenting before he’d even fully decided. “You convinced me,” he said. “I’d love to meet him.” Apart from anything else, it beat the hell out of grocery shopping.

~~~

**Washington DC, 1986**

The allegedly vital staff meeting had run late enough that he’d missed his bus, and Sam really didn’t feel like walking home in the still-oppressive heat of the DC summer evening. He shuffled some papers on his desk, reluctant to leave the air conditioned building but finding himself with no actual reason to stay.

“A few of us are heading over to Pennsylvania Avenue,” Monique told him, hooking her purse over her arm and nodding her head towards the door. “You wanna come?”

“Does the bar you’re going to have a/c?” he asked, already reaching for his completely unnecessary jacket.

Monique shrugged. “They have tequila,” she offered.

“...good enough.” He draped the jacket over his arm, tucked his wallet in his pocket, and followed her out to join the loose gaggle of staffers from his team, falling into step as they made their way pub-wards.

Friday night, with the summer air settled over the city like a hot, damp blanket, it seemed like every intern and staffer in Washington - as well as more than a few junior congressmen and women - had headed in the same direction. Conversation died in the crush and din of the bar; nobody could hear anybody else, and while they worked together, none of them were exactly friends anyway. Drink orders were accomplished somehow, and Sam soon found himself with a tap beer and a shot he hadn’t paid for, waving his thanks at Monique as he reached for the salt. Shot, lime, then he grabbed his beer, intending to work his way back outside or basically anywhere he could _breathe_ \- and slammed right into Josh Lyman, slopping the beer down his shirt.

Josh was laughing at him _again_ , only this time it was up close and that bit harder to ignore, even while scrambling to apologise.

“Don’t worry about it!” He waved off Sam’s apologies, grabbing a handful of paper napkins and cursorily mopping them both down before reaching past Sam for his own beer. “You need a new drink?”

Sam held up his glass and - yeah, as he’d thought, only a little had slopped out the top. “I didn’t pay for this one,” he yelled with a shrug. “Thanks, though.”

“No problem.” The grin didn’t fade, and crap, this guy really ought to come with a warning label or something. “You with the guys from your office?”

“Uh - yeah, kinda.” Sam glanced around, not seeing the people he’d walked in with. “Or not, I guess. You?”

Josh shrugged. “They’re around here somewhere.” He gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “You wanna go someplace we don’t have to yell at each other?”

Sam nodded, and took a sip of his beer to lessen the chance of losing any more of it before starting towards the door. Outside was just as crowded, but they found a low wall in the shade and sat down, grinning stupidly at each other.

“So,” Sam started, feeling like he ought to say _something_. “Hey. How are you?”

Josh’s grin brightened. “I am _exceptional_.” He toasted that fact with his beer, which Sam was beginning to suspect wasn’t his first. “One of those days when I remember why I went into politics, you know?”

Sam didn’t know, given he’d been in Washington all of two months, and thus far pretty much felt like a not-even-really-glorified intern - but Josh’s happiness was almost palpable and it was impossible not to smile back.

“I’m glad you had a good day,” he said sincerely.

“You actually are, aren’t you.” Josh sipped his beer, looking at him thoughtfully. “So, Sam Seaborn from Princeton, tell me how goes it in the office of Congresswoman Edwards?”

Sam snorted softly. “Oh, it’s like Mardi Gras, Prom and Homecoming, all rolled into one non-stop party.” 

Josh’s faint grimace was sympathetic. “You gotta hang in there, man. At some point they’ll figure out what you’re worth, I promise.”

“You promise?” Sam shook his head, and took a sip of his beer. “I don’t actually know what I’m doing here, to be honest with you. I mean, it’s not like I expected to be working on high level policy from day one, but I’m pretty much just doing scut work.”

Josh sighed. “I hear ya. But like, you can write, man. That press release you did a couple of weeks back was _really_ good.”

“It was just a press release,” Sam said dryly. “Hardly the State of the Union.”

“No, I know that - I just mean -” Another explosive sigh. “Those guys she has writing her speeches at the moment are idiots, man, only she’s too dumb to realise it.” He waved his hand, sketching out his point. “I mean, she’s a nice person, and don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to have more women in Congress, particularly on our side. I just -”

Sam smiled, amused by Josh’s scrambling. “I get what you mean,” he interrupted quietly. “And thanks.” He still didn’t think politics was totally his thing, but he was willing to give it a little longer before bailing. “You want another beer?” 

Josh eyed his near-empty glass speculatively. “I probably shouldn’t,” he admitted, grin turning rueful. “Although hey, don’t let me stop you. In fact, don’t let me keep you from your buddies.”

“They’re not exactly what I’d call ‘buddies’,” Sam said. “But if that was a hint for me to leave so you can get back to yours, I’m happy to -”

“...take a walk with me?” Josh looked surprised at his own words. “I mean, if you want to, obviously. Don’t feel, like, obliged or anything.”

Sam smiled. “I want to.” He downed the remainder of his drink and suppressed a belch. “Where did you have in mind?”

That got a soft hmm. “There’s a pretty nice park right next to our workplace.”

“Sounds good.” Yes, it was still too hot, and no, he still didn’t really want to walk in it - but Josh was the most interesting thing that had happened since he’d arrived in Washington, and he very much wanted to see where this was going.

The couple of blocks back to the Mall was, it seemed, more than enough time for Josh to launch into a detailed description of his day, and Sam found himself struggling to keep up with the almost-manic hand-waving and bafflingly convoluted sideroads the story kept taking. Apparently he wasn’t expected to contribute, though, and he ended up simply nodding along, trading grins with Josh when he paused for breath but otherwise just letting him talk. It should have been overwhelming - Josh’s enthusiasm for his work was an awful lot like a freight train - but Sam was actually enjoying himself. If nothing else, he was becoming more and more certain that the low buzz of attraction he’d been ignoring ever since their first meeting in Brennan’s office wasn’t one-sided, for all that Josh simultaneously gave every impression of having absolutely _no_ idea what he was doing.

The shadows had lengthened during the time they’d been at the bar, but there were still plenty of people around the park, enough that Sam waited until they were right next to the Botanical Gardens before placing his hand lightly in the small of Josh’s back and steering him into a secluded corner where a hedge met the outside wall of the building. It was the quietest Josh had been since they’d left the bar, and Sam took a moment to really look at him.

“Tell me I’m not misreading this,” he murmured, taking a step closer.

“You’re not misreading this,” Josh agreed, and let himself be pressed back against the wall, eyes bright with - something.

Sam beamed at him, closed the few remaining inches between them and - oh god, finally. It was as if he’d been wanting to kiss Josh forever, even though in reality he knew it had been less than two weeks since he’d first laid eyes on him. The kiss wasn’t perfect - Josh really was clueless, apparently, and it took some adjusting of hands and bumping of noses until they found something that worked.

But then - oh, then. Josh tasted slightly bitter, like the beer he’d been drinking, and Sam found himself chasing that taste, pressing closer still until he felt the heat of Josh’s body through their clothes. They both moaned into the kiss, Josh’s hands sliding first tentatively, then more confidently down Sam’s back to cup his ass. And maybe it wasn’t smart to do this here, just steps from the building where they both worked - but Sam couldn’t bring himself to care, breaking the kiss only to trail his lips along Josh’s lightly-stubbled jaw and down his throat.

“Sam -” Josh breathed, arching his neck to give Sam better access. “Fuck - no, wait, wait.” His hands landed on Sam’s shoulders, and he pushed him gently, just enough to get him to take a step back. “Wait. We can’t do this here.” 

Sam stared at him, brain sluggishly processing the fact that he wasn’t being rejected so much as placed on pause. 

“Right.” He knew that, of course he did. “You’re right. So - where?”

Josh laughed, soft and not unkind. “My place isn’t far,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of Sam’s mouth before removing his hands from him entirely and straightening his own shirt. “C’mon. I have unreliable a/c, cheap beer in the fridge, and a menu for every takeout place in a three mile radius.”

“Sold.” Sam grinned, taking a moment to right his own clothing and step aside to let Josh lead the way. Suddenly, his weekend was looking a helluva lot more promising.

~~~

**Austin 2020**

By the time Owen was on his way home that afternoon - chauffeured again by his uncommunicative and besuited new buddy - his head was swimming with long-ignored feelings and half-completed thoughts.

The former President, who Owen still couldn’t call ‘Matt’ regardless how many times the man had insisted, had been every bit as funny and charming in real life as his public appearances had suggested he’d be. It had been many years since he’d spent time with politicians, save for some limited dealings in New York, and Owen associated them with a certain glossy, superficial affability. But the former President hadn’t been even slightly like that. His smiles had been quick and genuine, eye contact frequent and sincere, humor sharp yet inclusive, drawing Owen into the joke rather than using it to put him in his place.

That he adored Josh, utterly and completely, had been obvious from the moment he’d walked in, and had shown itself again and again throughout lunch with myriad small touches, lingering glances and quiet smiles. His whole manner was steady, contained - not uptight or controlled, but just that economy of movement that came from being absolutely sure of himself and his own place in the world. Josh could be intimidating, verbally and intellectually, something that he’d used to great effect in his career before, during and after their tenure in the White House. Yet the former President had never once seemed lost or out of his depth, simply smiling quietly as Josh segued from a rant about the current US administration into a rant about the crop of Democratic candidates, evidently not just used to his husband but also genuinely interested in whatever he was saying.

Owen couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at him like that - wasn’t sure they ever had, if he was honest. Possibly Lisa in the early days of their relationship, back before her pride at being married to one of New York’s bravest had morphed into resentment and frustration with the fire department in general and Owen in particular.

The car slowing to a stop outside his house jolted him out of his reverie, and he leaned forward to thank the agent, pausing only to gather his few belongings before making his way inside.

“Hey, Dad.” TK was standing in the kitchen, concocting some kind of smoothie and looking loose-limbed and relaxed in a way that eased something in Owen’s chest. Moving here had been a good thing for both of them, but especially for TK.

“Hey.” He propped his hip against the breakfast counter, content just to watch for the moment. “Good day so far?”

TK shrugged. “I guess.” He finished up chopping the veg and tossed it in the blender before giving Owen a curious look. “Where’ve you been?”

Owen shook his head and smiled. “Would you believe me if I said ‘having lunch with the former President and former First Gentleman’?” 

“You’re - not kidding, are you.” TK’s eyebrows were nearly in his hairline, but his tone was absolutely sure. 

“No, I’m not.” Owen reached past his son and turned off the blender, grabbing a spoon and giving the smoothie a quick stir before replacing the lid and setting it going again. “I guess - I guess there’s a few things I never told you.”

“Other than about the cancer, you mean?” 

Ouch. Owen didn’t answer that - wasn’t sure he was expected to, honestly - but it didn’t mean the jab hadn’t found its mark.

A deep sigh from behind him, then he felt rather than saw TK move closer. “I’m sorry, Dad. That was really bitchy.” Two ice-filled glasses clunked down next to him, and Owen smiled slightly.

“Nah, I deserved it.” He turned off the blender again and poured them each a portion before turning to face his son. “Got a minute to sit with me?”

TK nodded. “Got a bunch of ‘em.” They both fell silent until they reached the sofa, Owen sorting through what he wanted to say, while who knew what TK was thinking. The past few hours had been great, but it had stirred up a _lot_ , and despite everything he’d said the other night about not thinking TK was too weak, Owen’s first instinct was still to shield him.

Still, that hadn’t exactly worked so great for them so far. Perhaps -

“We’ve talked before about how I’m originally from California,” he began, opting to just rip off the metaphorical Band-Aid. “Moved to New York after college, decided to stay.”

TK nodded, still making himself comfortable next to Owen. 

“Okay, so that much is true - as far as it goes. The rest is…” He trailed off, still uncertain where to start. “More complicated.”

“Dad.” TK was giving him that ‘get to the point’ look that always reminded Owen so much of Lisa.

“Sorry.” Owen took a sip of his smoothie, and tried again to order his thoughts. “The thing is, I never had a good relationship with my parents, growing up. They weren’t abusive or anything like that - we were just _really_ different, you know?” Money-obsessed, status-obsessed, anti-immigrant, anti-everybody Orange County Republicans who Owen just knew would have had a fit if they saw his current crew.

TK nodded again, obviously waiting to see where he was going. “So you couldn’t wait to leave home. I get that.” 

Owen huffed a laugh, nodding. He was underplaying it somewhat, but he really didn’t want to give TK the wrong impression. “Aside from that, I was a straight-up nerd in high school. I got bullied and teased kinda badly, and I was pretty miserable for most of my teens, if I’m honest.” Which would be why he’d never judged TK for his own struggles.

“Huh. I always figured you for a jock, or at least one of the popular kids.” 

“Yeah, not so much, actually.” Owen paused, then stood and walked over to the bookcase to grab his old atlas, the dust jacket frayed and soft with age. Near the back, tucked between the pages, was his first degree certificate from Princeton, ‘Samuel Norman Seaborn’ in old-fashioned print still as black as the day he’d received it.

He handed the certificate to TK and retook his seat, taking a sip of his drink and waiting for him to finish looking at it.

“I don’t get it.” TK looked up at him, obviously confused. “Whose is this?”

Okay, this was it. “Mine. I - I changed my name thirty years ago when I was a witness in a drugs trial.”

TK’s frown deepened. “A witness in a - wait. Are you in witness protection? For all that time?”

“No.” Owen shook his head. “Not any more. Witsec lasted about three, nearly four years.”

“And so what, you just forgot to mention to anyone that you had an Ivy League degree, even though you didn’t have to hide the name anymore?”

“It didn’t seem important.” Which, given how much he’d use to talk about it when he’d first graduated, was perhaps a little weird. “I’d thrown myself into becoming a firefighter by then, your mom and I were talking about getting married, and all of that felt way more real than anything from before the case.”

TK was staring at the certificate again. “Did mom know about this?” he asked, turning it over in his hands.

“Well, we met in grad school, so yes, she knew that I had a degree already.” 

“Dad, come on. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Sorry.” Owen sighed, trying to shake his defensiveness. It was only natural that TK had questions, after all. “She knew I had a past that I wasn’t allowed to talk about when we first met. Then later, when everyone from the trial was either in prison or dead, I told her - everything, yeah.” More or less, at least.

TK nodded slowly, handing Owen the certificate. “And the two of you decided not to tell me?” He sounded hurt rather than angry.

“Not deliberately.” He didn’t think they’d ever had that discussion. “When I married your mom, I’d made a choice that this was the life I wanted, not my old one. And part of that was just - never really thinking about the past, you know? By the time you were born, I was so immersed in my new life it honestly didn’t occur to me to bring it up.”

That got a raised eyebrow. “Was your old life so bad?”

“Bad?” Owen took another sip of his drink, considering his answer carefully. “No, it wasn’t bad.” ‘Directionless’ would be a better word, maybe. “I had a job that bored me, in a city I didn’t love, mainly surrounded by people I didn’t fit in with.” 

“In New Jersey?” TK looked lost, and Owen couldn’t blame him.

“Washington DC. I was a congressional aide.” 

TK’s eyes widened. “No wonder you felt you didn’t belong. I mean, no offense, Dad, but I can’t see you working happily with politicians.”

Owen snorted softly. “Starting to see yet why I didn’t want to go back?” 

“I’m getting there,” TK agreed, taking a sip of his own drink. “I guess I never really thought about what going into witness protection would mean. Cutting off contact with everyone had to have been rough.” 

The hurt sounded like it was fading, and Owen smiled faintly, acknowledging the point. “It took some getting used to,” he agreed quietly, aware he was still underplaying things but reluctant to dredge up too much old pain.

TK was studying him closely, and Owen tried his best not to fidget under the scrutiny. “Okay,” he said finally. “So how does all of this end up with you eating lunch with the Lyman-Santoses today?”

“Ah - that’s kind of a long story.” At least TK seemed to have moved past the part where Owen had concealed all of this for decades. “The thing you have to understand is, ‘congressional aide’ sounds way more fancy than my job actually was. I was a junior junior - basically one step up from an unpaid intern, and not a very big step at that. All of the crap other people didn’t want to deal with used to land on my desk.”

That got a genuine smile. “Kinda like being a probie, huh?” 

“Very much like being a probie.” He’d never thought about it like that before, but the comparison worked. “The former First Gentleman - Josh Lyman-Santos - he was higher on the ladder than I was. By the time I arrived, he’d only been there maybe a year or two years - but people already knew who he was and pretty much everyone liked him, at least on the Democrat side of the house.” The Republicans he was pretty sure had hated Josh as much as Josh hated them.

“He was your boss?”

Owen shook his head, and forced himself not to look away. “He was my boyfriend.”

The silence that greeted his words was difficult to interpret. Owen kept his gaze stubbornly on TK, watched the parade of conflicting emotions chase each other across his face and tried not to speculate which one would land.

“You had a _boyfriend_?” TK’s voice when he finally spoke was disbelieving, almost brittle, and okay, in retrospect Owen should have anticipated that that was the part his son would trip hardest on.

“I did,” he said calmly. “Which would be yet another reason why I didn’t just leave home when I went to college, I left the entire state.”

TK softened at that, empathy visibly winning out over everything else in that moment. “When you said you didn’t have a good relationship with your parents, you mean they reacted badly to you being - ?” 

“- bisexual,” Owen finished, unable to help but smile at the warmth that suffused him every time this side of TK showed itself. “I was older than you were when I came out, but yes, you could say they didn’t take the news well that their only son wasn’t completely straight.” Apparently he was sticking with understatement today.

He should have expected the sudden hug that followed, but as it was, he had to scramble not to spill his drink over both of them, getting it out of the way just in time to return the hug solidly.

“I’m sorry you had that,” TK murmured eventually. “You and mom - I know you guys were divorced by the time I came out, but you were both so, so great about it. I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

“Hey, no, none of that.” The very idea that he was owed thanks for clearing the incredibly low bar of _not rejecting his own child_ made his stomach clench painfully. “You’re our son, and your mom and I both love you without any conditions attached. You do know that, right?”

He felt the puff of air as TK huffed a soft laugh against his hair.

“Yeah, I do.” TK sat back slowly, but stayed close to Owen’s side. “It just pisses me off, y’know? I mean, your parents, the shit that Paul’s had to deal with…”

Owen nodded. “It’s not fair,” he agreed. “But that just means we have to push back harder.” God, he sounded like one of those motivational cross-stitches that his last ex-wife had hung all over the walls of their apartment. 

Another long silence stretched between them, interrupted only by the muffled sounds of the neighborhood outside. “Why did you never tell me you were bi?” TK’s voice was quiet, almost careful, and Owen took the time to think the question over before answering.

“I guess - it just didn’t feel like something you needed to know,” he said finally, reaching for his drink and taking a sip. “I think I would have told you, if I’d met a guy I liked enough to bring home. But there really wasn’t anyone.”

“But it’s not like you stopped being bisexual, right? Just because you got married twice.”

Owen quirked a small smile. “No. I’m as every bit as queer now as I was when my father threw me out of the house thirty-eight years ago.” He sipped his drink slowly. “I guess I felt like it wasn’t about me, you know? When you came out. I did think about it, but I just - I just wanted to be your dad. Not the queer dad or the straight dad, but. The guy you could come to, no matter what.” It had made sense at the time, although he was less sure now.

TK nudged his leg, and smiled at him. “You were. I mean, you still are. I just -” He sighed roughly. “I don’t even know why this is bothering me more than the name change and secret other life thing, to be honest.”

But it clearly was, and Owen desperately wanted to fix it. “Just add it to the list of things I screwed up, huh?” Leaving when TK was still a kid, for example, or not spotting that his son had a problem with alcohol and drugs until it was nearly too late.

“No!” TK shook his head firmly. “No, it’s not - you didn’t screw up. I mean, you did hide it, and I guess I’m finding that confusing because you pretty obviously don’t have a problem with people’s sexualities in general, and you’ve never once made me think you had a problem with mine.”

“I really don’t. I never have.” Owen wasn’t sure where TK was going with this, but he was sure as hell going to keep affirming that he loved his son, as many times as necessary.

“Okay. So why hide it?” 

Owen sighed. “You gotta understand, TK - being out in New York in the ‘80s and early ‘90s was a totally different thing than it is now. Outside of certain neighborhoods, people - they wouldn’t wanna shake your hand if they thought you were gay, or they’d refuse to sit next to you on the subway.” He wished he was exaggerating, but he remembered it all too clearly. 

“And being bi - I won’t say it was worse than being gay because it wasn’t, but.” How to explain? “It was like we were rejected by both sides. Straight people thought we were dirty or infected, and gay people thought we were just playing at being queer, too scared to fully commit.” He shook his head. “Your mom was _not_ like that, by the way. We fought about pretty much everything in the end, but never my sexuality - nor yours, afterwards.”

TK nodded slowly. “So when did you - wait, no, I hate it when people ask me that.” He was frowning, clearly still unsettled by Owen’s long overdue admission. “Obviously you were always bi. I guess I’m asking about your parents, and why you felt you had to tell them if they were as uptight as you say they were.”

“I didn’t have much choice.” Owen dropped his gaze, letting his thoughts drift back to his childhood in a way he usually avoided. “There was this family,” he said finally. “Miguel Flores, who ran this gardening and outdoors company. They’d come and fix people’s pool pumps, replace decking, mow lawns, pretty much anything around the property - and his wife cleaned a bunch of houses around our neighborhood. One of their sons was a few years older than me, the other about my age, and they both used to help their dad out after school or during vacations.”

“Okaaay.” TK drew the word out, not looking any less confused. “You sound like you’re describing something out of Real Housewives, Dad.”

“There’s a reason I hate that show,” Owen said dryly. “My parents were the rich assholes in this story, but also, they were the rich assholes who were never around, so I used to hang out and ‘help’ Miguel and his guys - or probably more accurately, get in the way, at least at first.” He smiled faintly. “Once I started learning Spanish in sixth grade, Miguel decided it was _me_ who needed help, and just started speaking Spanish to me every time he saw me. It took a while to get used to it, but I was like, ten years old, so I picked it up pretty fast.”

“I remember you helping me with my Spanish homework in junior high. I always assumed your mom or dad must’ve been Latin.” TK frowned. “Or like, one of your grandparents or something.”

“Yeah, no, definitely not.” They’d been the whitest of white, and weirdly proud of that. “All the Spanish I know was pretty much Miguel’s doing - and later, the son, Raùl.”

“Raùl, huh?” TK gave him a sideways look. “So I’m guessing Josh Lyman-Santos wasn’t your first boyfriend?”

Owen laughed. “Not so much, no.” God, Raùl had been gorgeous. Like seriously, seriously hot - which Owen hadn’t actually noticed until he was about thirteen, and hadn’t done anything about until he was fifteen. “We dated secretly from ninth grade onwards, until my father caught us together one afternoon when I thought the house was empty.”

“He freaked out?”

“Big style.” Owen forced himself to look up, and gave TK a smile that felt bitter, even all these years after the fact. “Miguel heard all the yelling and came running in from the garden with one of his other employees. He told me later that he really thought my father was going to kill me.” He sat forward, placing his glass on the coffee table before scrubbing his hands over his face. “Shit, I’m sorry.” He hadn’t talked about this - well, since it happened, pretty much. A few people knew he had a bad relationship with his parents, but he’d never gone into detail with anyone, not even Josh or Lisa. 

“Dad, seriously. Don’t apologise.” TK’s arm was warm around Owen’s shoulders, and he tensed. “None of this sounds like it was your fault.”

Owen snorted softly. “I know that - but thank you.” That sounded more dismissive than he’d intended, and he felt TK flinch and start to pull away. “TK, I mean it - thank you. I’m just. I’m not used to talking about this stuff, you know?”

TK squeezed his shoulder, then sat back, giving Owen some much-needed space. “So when you said that your dad kicked you out…”

“I meant it literally, yes.” He kept his voice as steady as he could, not needing or wanting sympathy. “Miguel and his wife, Camilla, they took me in for the remainder of senior year and the summer. I took every odd job I could find so I could contribute to the bills until I went off to college.” And he’d never been able to thank them enough for their generosity, though god knew he’d tried.

Silence settled between them again, and Owen finished his drink, watching as TK worked through whatever he needed to work through.

“I think I get it,” TK said finally. “It wasn’t so much that you were hiding, per se - you’d just gotten used to not talking about it until you needed to, and ‘cause you haven’t been with any guys since I was born -”

Owen pulled a face, rocking his head from side to side. “I haven’t had a serious _relationship_ with a guy since you were born, but there’ve definitely been a few, ah. Encounters, you might say? Here and there.”

That startled a laugh out of TK, and Owen smiled, more confident than he’d been since he sat down that this was all gonna pass.

“And there was me thinking all these years that you were all about the smoking hot babes.” TK punched Owen’s leg lightly.

“Oh, I definitely am.” Owen nodded earnestly, relieved by the shift away from more uncomfortable memories. “The only flaw in your assumption was that you thought those ‘babes’ needed to be female.”

That got him another laugh, softer but still real. “So you’re telling me the former First Gentleman was a hottie when he was younger, huh?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” At least Owen had thought so, and the fanclub he’d read about years later suggested he definitely hadn’t been the only one that had felt that way. “Although I gotta say, I actually really like the whole sexy Santa thing he has going on nowadays even more.” He wasn’t usually into beards, but Josh’s _really_ suited him - as did the white hair.

TK snorted. “You know I had a crush on him, right? Years and years ago, before I came out.”

“ _Really_.” 

“Oh yeah.” TK nodded, expression going dreamy. “Those paparazzi photos of the two of them at that party before Santos became president? Totally hot.”

Owen remembered those photos well, remembered how scared he’d been for his old friend. There’d been no real option to deny it - the mutual love and desire had been too obvious, even through grainy, poor quality photos - and he’d been delighted when the then-Congressman hadn’t even tried. That honesty, combined with the evident affection between the couple, had been enough to get most of the public on their side, despite the expected outcry from the usual suspects.

“Well, I’m relieved your tastes eventually settled into your age group rather than mine,” he teased gently, deliberately keeping the mood lighter. He wasn’t naive enough to think they were done with this yet - that they’d talked as much as they had was a minor miracle, but Owen was resigned to there being more questions at some point. “What were you - like, twelve when that story broke?”

TK smiled, apparently willing to go along with the teasing. “Something like that,” he agreed, then shook his head and stood slowly, stretching out his muscles as he did so. “Okay, so fun as this chat about the olden days has been - I’m beat. I’m gonna hit the shower, then make dinner. You wanna choose a movie?” 

Owen nodded, already stretching out his own muscles from sitting so long. “I’ll get dinner started, though,” he offered, then paused. “Did you - tomorrow’s chemo. You still want to come with me?”

“Yeah, ‘course I do. I hadn’t forgotten.” The smile TK gave him was encouraging, even if Owen was certain it was concealing a whole boatload of undiscussed feelings about the chemo, not to mention everything Owen had told him this afternoon. “Now, go choose that movie.” 

“I’m on it.” Owen turned to pick up the TV remote and check through their options, letting out a surprised ‘oof’ when TK suddenly wrapped him in a bear hug from behind.

“You know I’m not mad about the bi thing, right?” TK’s voice was hoarse, and Owen couldn’t help but smile, relief coursing through him.

“I do now,” he said quietly. He hadn’t known he’d needed to hear that until TK said it, but god, he really had.

TK’s arms tightened around him, and Owen closed his eyes, leaning back into the hug. “Just gimme some time to wrap my head around the not talking about it part, okay?”

“The not -” Owen paused, picking his way through the words until he was pretty sure he got what TK was saying. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Another tight squeeze, then TK was gone, bounding up the stairs, leaving Owen staring stupidly at the TV remote in his hand. It was so obvious now - TK wasn’t rejecting him, he was just upset that Owen had hidden his sexuality, and there was nothing to be done for that other than to give him the time he’d asked for. Owen could do that. He _would_ do that. 

But for now? For now he’d get on with choosing the damn movie.

~~~

**Washington DC, 1986**

“Hey there.”

Sam looked up from his newspaper, unable to help but smile at the sight of Josh Lyman hovering nervously near his table.

“Hey yourself. Would you like to sit?”

Josh nodded, looking awkward, and dropped his backpack on the floor before sliding into the booth opposite Sam.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to talk to me,” he admitted. “After I - y’know.”

Sam smirked. “Spent the weekend in bed with me, then fell off the face of the planet for three weeks?” The café was loud and nobody was paying attention to them, but he kept his voice low anyway.

Josh winced, and curled his hands around his coffee cup. “That, yeah.” 

“Well, I _have_ spent pretty much every hour of every day waiting by the phone, and every night crying myself to sleep.” Sam shook his head mournfully. “I’ll be honest with you, Josh - it’s been affecting my work.”

That earned him a sharp look. “...I feel like you’re mocking me.” 

Sam laughed. “You caught that, huh?” He folded the newspaper and set it aside, pulling his own coffee back towards him instead. “Seriously, Lyman - we’re good. Don’t worry about it.”

Josh smiled finally, looking honestly relieved. “Okay then. Because I really didn’t mean to be an ass.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “I’m just - I’m not great at the relationship part, y’know? Sex is one thing, but -” He trailed off as the waitress arrived to offer them refills.

Sam waited until she’d finished pouring their drinks and walked away before leaning forward himself. “It’s a good thing,” he said quietly, meeting Josh’s gaze.

Heat flared in Josh’s eyes, and Sam let his smile grow more suggestive for a moment. They couldn’t do this here - Josh at least was well-known, and there were people that even Sam recognised in the café - but hey, it wasn’t as if they’d done anything that couldn’t be passed off as something other than what it was. Yet.

“Uh - yeah.” Josh sat back, flustered, and Sam smirked at him as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Look - there’s a game on Thursday night. You wanna watch it together?” That was the kind of thing guy friends did together, right? Totally socially acceptable.

Josh stared at him like he’d spoken another language, then nodded. “Yes. Yeah. A game sounds good. We can, uh, we can definitely do that.”

Sam grinned brightly, and stood, picking up his suit jacket and draping it over his arm. “Your place on Thursday, then,” he said, patting Josh’s shoulder as he made his way to the door, before pausing and heading back to the table. “Order in something that involves actual identifiable vegetables, please?” He’d seen Josh’s kitchen, and very much doubted the other man intended to cook. “Ones that aren’t deep-fried or on a pizza.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re only in this for the free food, Seaborn.” Josh eyed him narrowly, apparently no longer flustered.

“You unearthed my dastardly plan.” Sam patted his shoulder again, utterly unrepentant, and - headed off to work. Thursday night couldn’t come soon enough.

~~~

**Austin, 2020**

“So let me get this straight.” Josh’s voice was a little tinny through the iPad where it was propped up on the work surface, but still managed to sound incredulous. Owen was choosing not to look at his face, focusing instead on chopping the veggies for the stirfry he was putting together while they talked. “Some guy who’s pissed that you got what he sees as his job ratted your cancer diagnosis out to the brass, and now you’re gonna kill yourself to prove who’s got the biggest dick out of the two of you?”

Owen huffed in annoyance. Since their chance reunion following the hurricane, they’d fallen into the habit of calling or Facetiming once a week or so, and while their friendship might not be quite back to where it had been, Owen had definitely found himself remembering why they’d become friends in the first place. Problem was, he was also remembering Josh’s worst qualities - like now, for example, after admitting his intention to do the CPAT in full protective gear.

“Stop making it sound like it’s some kind of macho posturing thing,” he grumbled. “It’s not about that.”

Josh’s short laugh sounded dismissive, and also slightly wild in that way it always used to when he’d had a drink or two. “Bullshit. It’s entirely about that, and you know it.”

“It is not.” Owen put the knife down and turned to face the screen, ready to argue, then realised that at some point the former President - Matt - had joined Josh. “Oh, ah - good evening, Mr President.”

“Matt,” came the soft correction. “And much as it pains me to take my husband’s side when he’s being an asshole, I have to say that it does sound a lot like you’re trying to prove something other than how good you are at your job.”

“Ha!” Josh grinned, flinging his arms up triumphantly, before draping one around Matt’s shoulders and kissing him. “Seriously, Owen, I don’t get this whole deal. They already know how good you are, otherwise why would they have flown all the way up to New York to recruit you?”

Owen shook his head stubbornly. “I can do this.” He _needed_ to do this.

“The question isn’t whether you can, it’s whether you _should_.” The former President’s tone was warm, and far more understanding than Josh’s. “I have to do a physical fitness test as a reservist, and it gets harder every year. However good shape I’m in, my body just isn’t capable now of what it was when I was 25. Pretending that it is doesn’t do anybody any good.” 

Josh leaned in and murmured something Owen couldn’t hear, and wasn’t sure he wanted to, given the way Matt cleared his throat and shot his husband a Look. 

“I do take your point,” Owen conceded, steadfastly ignoring the way Josh’s grin had turned flirtatious now that it was trained on Matt rather than him. “But it’s been a while since I changed up my workouts anyway. Pushing myself a little harder isn’t a bad thing.”

“It is if you give yourself a heart attack in the process.” And oh, Josh’s attention was back on him - Owen really should have enjoyed that brief respite more than he had.

“TK’s gonna be there with me while I train,” he snarked. “He knows CPR.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay then.” Josh rolled his eyes dramatically. “Didja teach him that yourself?”

“You know, I did, actually.” Owen glared at him a moment, then waved his hand in some kind of surrender before turning back to preparing dinner. “Look, guys, I appreciate the concern, I really do. And if it makes you feel better, I’m planning to do some walk-throughs without PPE before attempting a timed run, okay? I’m not a complete idiot.”

Josh snorted loudly. “That, my friend, is debatable.”

“Thanks.” The spattering of the oil as he threw the veggies in the pan muffled Matt’s laughter, and Owen ignored them both for the couple of minutes it took to cook everything. Annoying as Josh could be - and Matt, when he took Josh’s side - it was actually nice to have even remote company on evenings when TK was out with his new friends. Owen hadn’t realised how much he’d missed that kind of lowkey interaction with people outside of work.

“So how’s Massachusetts?” he asked once his food was on a plate and he’d settled at the breakfast bar, iPad propped in front of him. “Having fun showing off to the undergrads?” 

Josh and Matt had clearly moved outside while he’d been fussing with dinner, and he could hear the distant sounds of city life drifting up to what looked like a roof terrace. While they had a home here in Texas, the Northeast had been solidly in their corner when they’d come out as a couple; even without Josh’s ties to Harvard, Owen knew that they’d probably have found reasons to go back up there regularly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Josh said airily, getting a snort from both Owen and Matt. “Seriously? You two are ganging up on me now?”

“You guys ganged up on me earlier,” Owen pointed out, not unreasonably, he thought.

“That was different.”

“How so?”

“Matt was on my side, then.” Josh grinned unrepentantly, and Owen was tempted to throw a bean sprout at the screen. “It’s been good, though. These kids almost restore my faith in the intelligence of the electorate.”

Owen laughed. “Only ‘almost’?” Josh was the only person he knew who could be underwhelmed by Harvard students. 

“There’s a lot of restoring to do after the past few years,” Josh muttered darkly, taking a sip of whatever was in his glass. 

“Oh god, don’t start. I’ve heard your rant about the current administration once already, Josh.”

“Just the once?” Matt gave him a conspiratorial eyeroll. “Lucky you.”

Josh’s outraged ‘hey!’ made Owen laugh, the resulting argument giving him the chance to eat a bit more of his dinner and just observe the couple. He’d gotten used to their bickering over the past few weeks, had learned to appreciate Matt’s surprisingly sly sense of humor that complemented Josh’s wry sarcasm so well. That they made an attractive couple wasn’t news - anyone with access to the US media couldn’t have avoided photos of them since Matt had been nominated by his party - but there was something about seeing them in these private moments, dressed casually and in Josh’s case a little drunk, that really hammered the point home.

“So when are you guys back in Texas?” he butted in, derailing the row that he was pretty convinced was their version of foreplay.

“Week after next,” Josh answered, still wrapped around Matt, but at least refocused on the call rather than whatever was going on their side. “Matt has a -” he waved his hand vaguely, nearly spilling his drink, “y’know, a thing next week in Washington, and I have to go along and look pretty and make smalltalk with idiots.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say about Congress, babe.” Matt’s voice was mild, but laced with amusement. “We’ve talked about this.”

Josh rolled his eyes, taking another sip of what Owen had now worked out was Scotch. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Not all of them are morons.” He eyed Matt narrowly. “Just most of them.”

Matt sighed. “ _Some_ of them,” he conceded, before turning his attention back to Owen. “You should come see us once we’re back, Owen. The house is plenty big enough, and Houston’s less than three hours in good traffic.”

Wow. “Oh - that’s really kind of you, Mr President.” He heard the soft ‘Matt’, but pressed on. “I’ll check my schedule, but I don’t know that I’ll be able to make it. Lots going on here at the moment.”

“What’s her name?” Josh seemed to be sitting at least partially in Matt’s lap now, one arm draped around his shoulders, sharp gaze fully on Owen through the connection. “Or his?”

“How do you know there’s anyone of any gender?”

“Oh please.” Josh rolled his eyes. “I know what you look like when you got laid - and you, my friend, got laid recently.” 

Owen pointed his chopsticks at the screen. “There is no way you can possibly tell that over Facetime,” he protested.

Matt laughed as Josh crowed triumphantly. “I don’t even have the ‘ex-boyfriend’ card to play - but you did just walk right into confirming his hypothesis.”

Damnit. “So I did.” Owen decided he was done with his meal, and pushed the plate away, picking up the iPad to carry with him as he cleared everything up and started making himself some mint tea. “But I am not having this conversation with you.” He gave them his best stern captain look. “Either of you.”

“Spoilsport,” Josh hollered, pouting when Matt lifted the glass from his hand and finished the drink. 

“I’m cutting you off,” Matt said firmly. 

Owen smiled. “I see Josh’s alcohol tolerance hasn’t improved any,” he said, laughing as the pout got turned on him. “Oh, don’t even try that with me, Lyman. You’re a lightweight and you always have been.” Not that Owen was a whole lot better, at least not these days.

“I knew it.” Matt smiled at Owen, wrapped around Josh just as much as Josh was around him, looking totally at ease. “He told me it was just that we were getting old.”

“Oh no, trust me, he was like this in his twenties as well.” He smiled quietly, still adjusting to being able to talk about these things out loud. “And on that note, I ought to go. Thank you both for keeping me company through dinner.” It hadn’t happened often enough to be a ‘regular’ thing yet, but it was certainly headed that way, and Owen kinda liked it.

“Our pleasure - and please, do think about coming over to visit once we’re back. Josh’ll send you the address in the morning.” 

It was on the tip of Owen’s tongue to ask why he couldn’t send it tonight, but he looked again at the way they were holding one another, the way Josh’s fingers were playing lightly with the collar of Matt’s shirt, and decided that for the sake of his own sanity, he didn’t want to know.

“I’ll think about it,” he promised. “And Josh - drink some damn water, will you?” He ended the call, still smiling - and went to finish making that tea.

~~~

**Washington DC, 1986**

“You’re drunk.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Lies.” Josh staggered slightly as he bent down to untie his shoelaces, apparently unaware that he was undermining his own argument.

Sam pushed himself up from the sofa to go help, amused. “How was the holiday party?” he asked, crouching down to remove Josh’s shoes, smiling at the way Josh’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

“It was good! They had rum punch.” Josh hiccoughed gently.

“I smell that.” Sam stowed the shoes safely out of the way, and stood to start unwinding the scarf from around Josh’s neck. “How many did you have? Two?”

“And a half,” Josh agreed, apparently giving up trying to defend himself. “They were strong.”

“Of course they were,” Sam soothed, pushing Josh’s rain-speckled coat from his shoulders and hanging it up to dry before guiding Josh over to the sofa. “Did you have anything to eat?”

Josh seemed to have to think about that, then shook his head, and Sam smiled helplessly, sinking down next to him. 

“Good job I ordered pizza then, isn’t it?” He didn’t spend enough time at Josh’s place to feel totally at home here, but he knew where the takeout menus were and had suspected Josh would be the worse for wear after his after-work get together. Having a key to let himself in was a pretty new development - tonight was the first time he’d used it, after finishing with his own holiday party a couple of hours earlier.

Josh was grinning at him widely. “See, this is why I like you being around.”

“My ability to order takeout?”

“Among other things,” Josh agreed, leaning close and carefully giving Sam a slow, rum-laced kiss that didn’t stay careful for long.

Later, much later, with the untouched pizza still lying on the coffee table and sweat cooling on their skin, Josh propped himself on his elbow and gave Sam a more sober-looking grin.

“Look, I know it’s a bit short notice? But I’m going to my folks for the last night of Hanukkah on January third. Congress’ll still be in recess then, so I figured I’d leave sometime around lunchtime on the Friday, come back Sunday evening.”

“...okay?” Sam rolled on his side so they were facing each other, unsure why Josh was telling him all this, or why he sounded nervous. They’d been spending more time together, sure, but it wasn’t like they were in each other’s pockets 24/7.

Josh’s grin grew fond. “Are you always this dense after sex, Seaborn, and I just never noticed until now?” He brushed the backs of his fingers lightly over Sam’s jawline. “I’m asking if you want to come with me, dumbass. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, obviously, but it’d be nice to have some company on the journey, and my parents are dying to meet you.”

Sam stared at him. “You - wait. You told them about me?”

“Course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

And that was a fair question, even if it did shake Sam’s worldview. “I - don’t know. I guess I just assumed you weren’t out to them, that’s all.”

Josh shrugged. “I came out in middle school,” he said, as if that was a perfectly normal thing that people did. “They’ve had time to get used to it, but it was never a thing.” He tilted his head. “I take it you’re not out to yours?”

“Oh no, I am.” Sam could hear the bitterness in his own voice, and took a breath, trying to let go of that automatic tension. “Unfortunately it is a thing.”

“Shit - I’m sorry.” Josh’s rough sympathy almost undid him, but Sam just shook his head, brushing it aside.

“It’s fine,” he said firmly, then shook his head again, dredging up a smile from somewhere. “Sorry - obviously it’s not fine, but it is what it is and there’s nothing I can do to change it.” Other than moving to the opposite side of the continent, clearly. “Anyhoo - Hanukkah with your folks sounds - well, it sounds potentially awkward as hell, actually, seeing as I’ve never celebrated Hanukkah and have no idea what’s involved.”

Josh snorted. “Pretty much just eating and drinking,” he admitted, thankfully letting the topic of Sam’s parents go. “My parents aren’t super observant, and it’s not a particularly religious holiday anyway, so it’s not like you’ll be totally at sea.”

“Eating and drinking I can do.” He frowned, considering his finances for the next month or so. “What do I bring as a gift? I’ve never bought gifts for Jewish holidays before.”

“Donuts.”

Sam arched an eyebrow. “You’re shitting me.”

“I absolutely promise you that I’m not.” Josh grinned brightly. “This isn’t like Christmas - nobody’s dropping hundreds of dollars on expensive jewelry or whatever.” He paused. “Well, I mean, obviously I don’t speak for the entirety of my people, but nobody I know spends that kinda money on Hanukkah gifts, and definitely not my folks.” A small shrug. “If you really wanna go crazy, you could give a donation to a non-profit, and I’ll buy the donuts.”

“Who the hell buys donuts as a gift?” 

“Jewish people.” Josh laughed, relaxing down onto his pillow and tugging Sam closer. “Look, you’re back in the office next week - ask that intern, Jessica. She’s Jewish, she’ll back me up.”

Sam settled in against Josh’s shoulder, still not convinced this wasn’t some joke at his expense. “I’m gonna ask her,” he warned. “And then I’m gonna find out who else is Jewish so I can ask them as well, just in case you already got to Jessica.”

Josh tilted Sam’s chin up and kissed him warmly. “You do what you gotta do,” he murmured - then kissed him again and again until gifts - Jewish or otherwise - were the last thing on Sam’s mind.

~~~

**Austin, 2020**

Owen wasn’t sure what he’d expected to feel once parts of his previous life had started to creep back into his current life. Relief, perhaps? Some sense of relaxation?

The truth was, he’d been Owen Strand for longer than he’d ever been Sam Seaborn, and while Josh still tripped sometimes and used his old name in their semi-regular phone conversations, there hadn’t been the cataclysmic shift that he’d always thought there might be. 

Until now. Kneeling in the hospital chapel and praying to a god he wasn’t even certain he believed in anymore, Owen questioned every choice he’d ever made. Maybe the world hadn’t stopped spinning when Josh stepped out of his limo, but it sure as hell had when TK got hit by that bullet. 

Owen really didn’t know how to get it moving again. Wasn’t sure he could until TK opened his eyes, and the problem was, nobody could tell him when that would be.

The sudden buzz of his phone vibrating startled him out of his pity party, and he pushed himself tiredly to his feet before stepping out into the corridor to answer it.

“Hey, it’s me. How’s he doing?” 

Owen huffed softly, somehow unsurprised to hear Josh’s voice. He’d sent an SMS to let his old friend know what had happened, but clearly Josh had chosen to ignore the ‘there’s no need to call’ part of the message.

“Still unconscious,” he said, keeping his gaze down as he made his way over to the quiet alcove he’d called Lisa from earlier. “I’ve been trying to talk to him, but I - I mean you’re supposed to, with coma patients.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he swallowed heavily, determined to keep himself together.

“Hey.” A new voice came on the line, and Owen closed his eyes as he recognised the President’s - Matt’s - distinctive drawl. “Owen, it’s okay to be scared. That’s your kid lying in a hospital bed. We get it.”

The ‘we’ made him smile in spite of himself - Owen remembered well enough the press photos from years before of Josh with Matt’s kids, remembered the ripples of surprise through the media when as pre-teens they’d referred to Josh as ‘dad’ in some interview or another. They might not be genetically related, but Josh was just as much a parent to those kids as Matt and his ex-wife were.

“I know,” he managed, blinking rapidly. “And I appreciate you both calling so late.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Strand - of course we were gonna call.” Josh’s rough teasing got a choked laugh, which morphed into a sob as the tears that had been threatening ever since that gun had gone off finally spilled over.

He didn’t know how long he cried for, crumpled in a corner clutching his phone in one hand, the other hand covering his face. When he did blink back to awareness, he thumbed his phone, intending to call back and apologise - only to find the call still active.

“Hello?” His voice wasn’t much above a whisper, but it must have been audible enough judging by the loud exhale on the other end of the line.

“Jesus, man, you scared me,” Josh grumbled, and Owen could hear Matt in the background, scolding him for being an ass. “Thought I was gonna have to send a police officer or something.” 

“PD’s already here.” Owen couldn’t help but smile at that. “Although not in any official capacity. I think TK may have a new boyfriend he neglected to mention.”

“Which you’ll be able to give him grief about before you know it,” Matt called, at the same time Josh asked, “Is he hot?”.

Owen snorted softly. “Josh - yes, but he’s a baby - and Matt - thank you. I keep telling myself that.” To think otherwise was a road he wasn’t letting himself go down.

“You called me ‘Matt’.” The voice was closer to the phone again now, low and warm.

“...I did, didn’t I.” Apparently all it had taken for him to drop the formality was one fairly major trauma on top of Matt’s quiet persistence. “I should - I need to get back to him.”

“We’ll call tomorrow morning,” Matt promised, understanding. “I’ll pray for you both.” And oh yes, the former President was Catholic, wasn’t he? Maybe his prayers would be more effective than Owen’s half-assed attempts.

“I appreciate that,” he said truthfully. 

“But call before then if you need to,” Josh added. “Even if it’s really late. Or really early. Or - oh, you know what I mean.”

Owen smiled in spite of himself. “I do,” he agreed. “And I appreciate that as well. Both of you.” He’d survived a long time without Josh’s peculiar brand of fiercely loyal friendship, but he was finding he liked his life a whole lot better now he had it back. 

He found a visitors’ bathroom and splashed his face with water before returning to TK’s room, unsurprised to see Officer Reyes was still there, apparently zoned out enough that he startled and dropped TK’s hand as Owen walked in. 

“You’re fine,” Owen told him, squeezing the younger man’s shoulder before walking around the bed to take the other seat. “Do you mind if I join you, though?” 

Reyes shook his head. “No, sir, of course not, but - I should. I should go.” 

“Not on my account.” Owen gave him a tired smile. “Look, I didn’t realise before tonight that the two of you were - well, whatever the two of you are. But please don’t think I’m in any way against it.”

“I - okay then. Thank you, sir.” He settled back in his chair, and after a moment’s hesitation took TK’s hand again, still-wary eyes never leaving Owen’s face. The recognition that someone in this kid’s life had taught him not to trust parents’ reactions made something twinge in Owen’s chest - but he didn’t have the mental or emotional energy to deal with it right now, no matter how much better he felt for the brief call with Josh and Matt.

Instead, he nodded quietly, covered TK’s other hand with his own, and settled in to wait as long it took for his boy to wake up.

~~~

**Washington DC, 1987**

Josh drove them home. Considering the night out had ended with a sober Josh holding Mia’s hair while she puked into a gutter and a distinctly less sober Sam slumped at a nearby table, it had been kind of impossible to refuse, and Sam hadn’t even tried. 

Once they’d gotten Mia into her place and ensured she had access to water, Advil and a bucket, it turned out they were closer to Sam’s place than Josh’s. He’d managed to avoid inviting Josh over since they’d known each other, but unfortunately, Sam hadn’t sobered up sufficiently to think of a good reason for trailing back across the city.

“Wow.” Josh parked up, peering through the windshield at Sam’s building. “You live in this dump?”

“It’s not so bad.” Sam struggled with his seatbelt until Josh gently batted his hand away and unclipped it for him.

“I counted five drug dealers on this street alone,” Josh said, sounding amused. “I’m a little nervous to leave my car out here.” But it would look weird if they made a thing of parking further away, especially after half the Hill had seen Josh pouring Sam into the passenger seat. “C’mon, Seaborn, let’s get you inside.”

Sam let himself be maneuvered from the car into the building, only protesting vaguely when Josh started patting him down for a key. He could hear his neighbors arguing, again, and the thought sobered him up somewhat, enough that he located his own key and got Josh into his apartment before the argument spilled out into the hallway.

“Was that Spanish?” Josh asked, nodding his head towards the still clearly audible row. 

“Yeah.” Sam shrugged out of his jacket as he locked the door behind them and set the bolt, for all the good it would do. “I’m missing some context, but from what I can gather, the guy was seen with a prostitute and the woman’s not happy about it.” Amongst other illegal stuff Sam was pretty sure they didn’t realise could be overheard.

Josh handed his own jacket over, letting Sam hang both up. “You speak Spanish? Like, well enough to understand someone else’s argument?”

“I do.” Had he really never mentioned that before? “I thought you knew that - I mean, we were literally watching telenovelas together the other week.”

“Well, yeah, but they have subtitles.”

“That I don’t need to read.” He led them through to the kitchen, and pulled them each a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“Huh.” Josh accepted the water, turning a slow circle as he took in the rest of the apartment. Truth was, it was little more than a studio - the ‘kitchen’ was pretty much just one corner of a larger room, with Sam’s bed in the opposite corner and a small sofa separating the two. An overflowing bookcase covered most of the third wall, carefully positioned so the black mold near the ceiling didn’t reach the books. “I take back everything I said downstairs - it’s offensive to dumps to call this place a dump.”

Sam snorted softly. “Not all of us have family friends with sweet Georgetown apartments that they’re willing to let out at sub-market rates,” he pointed out, one ear still on the argument next door. 

“...okay, you make a fair point.” Josh at least had the grace to look slightly abashed. “But seriously, it’s not like you’re an intern, Sam. Surely you could’ve afforded something with y’know,” he waved his hand vaguely, “a bit less local wildlife?”

“If I’d’ve had a decent security deposit, maybe.” Sometimes he was sure Josh didn’t fully grasp how many areas of Sam’s life were affected by the whole ‘kicked out of home at eighteen’ thing. Sure, he’d attended a good school - but on a full-ride scholarship, and even then he’d had to work part-time to afford any extras he wanted like clothes or the occasional trip to the movies or a bar. “This place only wanted fifty bucks, and yeah, of course I know it’s a hole - but it’s all I could afford.”

Josh tilted his head, studying Sam for a moment before nodding and stepping close to wrap him up in a hug. “Okay,” he murmured. “I’m sorry for being a jerk about it. I didn’t think.”

Sam smiled into Josh’s shoulder, still buzzed enough from the alcohol to be hopelessly charmed by this infuriating man. “I know,” he whispered, turning his head just enough to press a kiss to the side of Josh’s throat. 

“Please let me get someone in to take care of that mold for you, though?” Josh reached behind Sam to place his bottle on the work surface, then slid his cool hands up Sam’s sides, making him shiver. “That can’t be good for you to be inhaling.”

“Is there even an outside chance of you shutting up about it until I agree?”

Josh pulled back just enough to grin at Sam. “Absolutely none whatsoever.”

Sam laughed. “Fine.” He set his own bottle down, then wrapped himself more solidly around Josh and kissed him, as slow and dirty as he knew how. Distraction, maybe, but also something he’d been thinking about all day. The stuff he’d overheard from his neighbors’ place… yeah, he’d figure out what to do about that tomorrow.

~~~

**Austin 2020**

“I realised that I never asked exactly why you left Washington,” TK said, voice hesitant like he’d been building up to asking. They’d been exploring parks around their new city, at first as running routes and now with an eye on figuring out which ones were fun for Buttercup. This one seemed a good choice so far; close to the river, with well-maintained paths and lots of joggers, walkers, and other dog-owners, and with enough greenery to feel more remote from the city than it really was. There was still the litany of familiar sounds - planes overhead, construction across the river, sirens wailing from somewhere in the direction of downtown - but more immediate was the chatter and rustle of birds and other wildlife in the trees. 

Owen took a long moment to figure out his answer, using the excuse of Buttercup sniffing a tree to order his thoughts, as well as to decide if he even wanted to talk about this here. After not talking about his old life for over thirty years, the recent fall back to openness was more unsettling than freeing.

“Well,” he said finally. “You remember I said I got kicked out of home at eighteen?” He waited for TK’s nod before continuing. “That meant that I didn’t have much disposable income all through college. I waited tables, tutored Spanish, washed dishes, flipped burgers, stuffed envelopes - you name it, I probably did it for at least a week or two. And the upshot of _that_ was that I couldn’t save up a security deposit, so when I got the job in DC I ended up in a really bad part of town.”

TK considered that. “Drugs, crime, or prostitution?”

“Yes.” All of that, and more besides. “But mainly the drugs. The street I lived on was basically a drugs supermarket, my building was pretty much the center of that, and the guy who owned it was one of the… kingpins, I think the FBI called him.” He paused at the sound of footfalls behind them, waiting for a runner to pass before continuing. “He was from Colombia, it turned out. And while it wasn’t _that_ uncommon for people to speak fluent Spanish in Washington back then, the people who spoke it weren’t usually WASP-y little Ivy League nerds like me.”

TK huffed a laugh. “I’m still having a really hard time imagining you all suited and booted and whatever,” he said, nudging Owen’s arm lightly. “I mean, the nerd part, sure, okay - but the whole clean-cut office drone thing is just weird for me.”

“I can’t decide if I’m insulted or flattered,” Owen said, honestly more amused than either of those things. “The point was, they underestimated me, with the result that I would occasionally overhear information of the kind that is very interesting to drug task forces.”

“Which led to the witness protection.”

“Basically.” There’d been a long and tense period of informing prior to that, that Owen decided TK didn’t need to know about. “If I’d been around when the arrests went down it would’ve been pretty easy to identify me as a key witness, so the FBI - they killed Sam Seaborn. I actually still don’t know how, although there’s probably a newspaper archive somewhere that I could find out.” He’d just never wanted to.

Buttercup brushed up against his leg, and Owen stopped walking to crouch down and fuss him, as well as to give TK the space to process what he’d said. Talking about drugs was always dicey with TK, let alone following the shooting and subsequent medical interventions. The doctors at the hospital had been understanding, had even carefully adjusted TK’s pain relief regimen to try and avoid triggering him - but Owen knew he’d sought out an NA meeting once he’d felt up to it, culminating in ‘coming out’ to the crew about his addiction.

The silence between them stretched and grew heavy. Owen didn’t break it, actually grateful for the time to pick through his own feelings regarding the conversation.

“You let your parents think you were dead?” The path was pretty empty for the moment, but TK still pitched his voice low, evidently picking up on Owen’s unease with doing this in public.

Owen nodded. “At least until the court case was over,” he said, equally quiet. “They were far enough away in California that it was unlikely anybody would’ve gone after them, but the Marshalls and the FBI thought it was best to err on the side of caution.” He gave Buttercup one last ear rub, then pushed to his feet to continue walking. “The case took months to come to court, then - I guess it was close to four years by the time it was finally all over and I was given the option to go back to my old life.”

TK looked at him sideways, and Owen was struck as always by how like his mother he was - not just his face but sometimes, as now, in expressions as well. “Obviously you didn’t take that option, otherwise I wouldn’t exist.”

“Obviously. Although I did seriously think about it.” Owen tucked his hands in his pockets, even though it wasn’t at all cold - another thing he was still adjusting to about Texas. “Going back, I mean. I flew out to California, thinking it was better to explain in person to my parents that I was still alive, rather than do it by letter or a phone call - and my mother told me that as far as she was concerned, her son had died the day he’d ‘chosen that lifestyle’. We - we haven’t spoken since.” He wasn’t even certain _they_ were still alive.

“Jesus, Dad.” TK looped his arm through Owen’s, pressing up against him warmly. “I mean, I know what you said before about your dad kicking you out, but that - that’s seriously fucked up.”

“No arguments here.” It was a big part of why he’d built the team that he had when they’d moved here, even without the brass’s request for ‘diversity’, and an even bigger part of why he’d always fought so hard to protect TK. “I went to see Raùl and his family, let them know what was going on - then I flew back to New York, met with the Marshalls and asked to keep my new identity and, well. I already told you the rest already.” Ditched law school, enrolled in the fire academy, married Lisa.

“I still can’t believe you ever went to law school,” TK said, slanting Owen a sideways smile, before frowning slightly. “But - wait, you said they’d reported that you’d been killed, right? So Josh Lyman-Santos thought that you were dead until he saw you a few weeks ago?”

“Turns out that he didn’t, actually.” Josh hadn’t explained how he’d known, and Owen had chosen not to ask. He doubted somehow that the ‘hint’ he’d left had been enough. “I don’t know when he found out I was alive, but he worked in politics a long time before he married the President, so I guess at some point he must have crossed paths with someone who knew something, or who had clearance to find out.” The idea that Josh had cared enough not to let it go made something warm bloom in his chest, another thing that he was choosing not to examine too closely.

“Were the two of you serious, then?” Unsurprisingly perhaps, TK was still caught on this idea of his dad not being as straight as he’d always assumed. “You called him your ‘boyfriend’ when we talked about it before.”

Owen rocked his head from side to side, slowing his pace as they reached a busier part of the park. “‘Serious’ would be overstating things, I think. But we were together for two years, and neither of us was seeing anybody else for at least the last eighteen months or so of that.” At least he hadn’t been, and he was 95 percent certain that had been true for Josh as well. “I don’t know if I was ever _in_ love with him - I definitely loved him, though, and it took me a pretty long time to start dating again once I left DC.”

TK just nodded, crouching down to unfasten Buttercup’s leash as they reached a sign saying dogs could run free here. Buttercup didn’t run off, but he did wander a little further ahead of them after a questioning look at Owen, tail waving happily in the breeze from the river.

“You do know that this isn’t some tragic star-crossed romance thing, right?” The silence was bothering Owen, and he was feeling increasingly like he’d created the wrong impression. “Obviously I have no way of knowing how things would’ve worked out had I not left Washington, and we really did care for each other. But it’s not as if I’ve spent the past thirty-odd years pining for him.” Thinking about him from time to time, and reading almost every article about him once those started showing up was not ‘pining’.

“No, I know that.” TK stopped by a tiny patch of beach, and picked his way down from the path to sit on one of the scattered rocks with a great view of downtown. They hadn’t walked far - maybe a mile, if that, but Owen had to remind himself that however healthy TK looked, he was only just out of the hospital. “I even believe that you really loved Mum, or at least when you married her. And you obviously like women enough that you were prepared to give marriage another go, which is -”

“- stupid?” Owen snorted. “Please, don’t remind me.” However strained things were between him and Lisa, it was nothing compared with the disaster that was his relationship with his second ex-wife.

TK grinned. “No offense to mom, but am I allowed to say that based on the people I know about, you have better taste in men than you do in women? Although Zoe’s cool. I like her.”

“So do I.” Just how much remained to be seen, but she was definitely - cool, yes, that was a good word for her. Funny. Smart. All of those things and more besides. “This is a nice spot,” he added, unsubtly changing the subject away from his love life, but also genuinely appreciating both the view and the park they were in. Buttercup seemed to like it too, happily padding around sniffing nearby before coming and flopping down in the sand near their feet.

“It is,” TK agreed, gaze fixed on the skyscrapers across the river. “Y’know, I do like it here, Dad. I meant what I said about needing some time to figure stuff out, but - Austin’s different from what I expected it to be. Like, in a good way.”

Owen didn’t answer immediately, forcing himself not to launch into all the reasons why TK was a great firefighter and why he shouldn’t quit. He’d promised he’d be supportive no matter the decision, and he intended to stick to that.

“I like it too,” he said instead, reaching down to ruffle Buttercup’s fur. “Way more than I expected, actually. I had all these vague ideas about Texas based - well, pretty much entirely based on 1980s TV shows, if I’m honest. And I’ve gotta say, juice bars and designer boutiques did not feature prominently in any of those ideas.”

TK gave him a mock-serious look. “See, stuff like that is what people expect from me once they know I’m gay. My go-to response was always ‘my dad knows way more about skincare and fashion than I do, and he’s straight’. And now I can’t say that anymore.” He huffed dramatically. “So annoying.”

“I really don’t think that there’s a direct correlation between taking care of your appearance and who you’re attracted to,” Owen objected, pleased that TK had apparently relaxed enough about his sexuality to tease him about it, but unable to let the comment slide anyway. “I started moisturising in junior high, way before I was interested in girls _or_ boys.”

“You’re gonna give me a lecture about LGBTQ stereotypes? Seriously?” TK was openly laughing at him now, and Owen pulled a face.

“Okay, that’s a fair point.” He looked at his son properly, taking in the tired lines around his eyes, the definite slump in his posture. “Tell you what - why don’t you sit here a little longer with Buttercup, and I’ll go back and fetch the car?” 

“I’m - actually, that’s not a bad idea,” TK agreed, the end of the sentence almost lost in a yawn. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“Wouldn’t have offered if I did,” Owen pointed out quietly, reaching across to lightly clasp TK’s shoulder before pushing himself to his feet. Truth was, apart from concern for his son, their conversation had left _him_ feeling vulnerable and unsettled again - a walk back to the car on his own would be enough to help him regroup before dealing with the rest of the day. One last quick once-over of TK, who looked tired but not on the verge of collapse, and he was gone, retracing his steps to the car, and determinedly not thinking about relationships, current _or_ former.

~~~

**Washington DC, 1987**

“I wish you’d just give notice on that place and move in with me already.” Josh was sitting on the counter in his kitchen, watching Sam assemble dinner with the same level of bafflement that Sam suspected he’d watch a surgeon perform a complex operation. “There’s plenty of room here for both of us, and heaps of people in DC have roommates. It wouldn’t be weird.”

Sam sighed, placing the tray of veggies he’d been chopping in the oven before turning to face Josh.

“We’ve had this conversation.” A couple of steps brought him to stand between Josh’s legs, hands coming to rest on his hips so he could drag him forward into a solid hug. “People have bought the friends thing so far, but Monique already calls you my boyfriend as it is. If we moved in together, it’d look just a little _too_ cozy.”

Josh draped his arms around Sam’s shoulders, and ducked his head to kiss him, their relative positions giving him enough of a height advantage that Sam had to tilt his head up.

“Would ‘cozy’ be so bad?” 

Sam wrapped his arms more firmly around Josh as the kiss deepened. No, cozy _wouldn’t_ be at all bad - but Sam needed to spend at least some of the week at his place so as to check on the listening devices the drugs task force had installed in his apartment, as well as to not arouse suspicion with his landlord. So far it seemed like his reputation as a quiet, polite monolingual was intact, but he couldn’t afford to rely on that.

“Josh, please don’t do this.” It was getting harder and harder to say no, and the problem really wasn’t lack of feelings on Sam’s side. “Our jobs -”

“Screw our jobs!” Josh slapped the work surface in frustration, startling Sam. “I’ll resign.”

“What?” This was a new gambit, one Sam hadn’t prepared for. “Josh, no, don’t be ridiculous. You love politics.” Nice as the idea of the two of them running off into the sunset together was, the price was too high.

“I lo-”

Sam clamped his hand over Josh’s mouth, eyes pleading. “Don’t say that. You know it’s not true.”

Josh met Sam’s gaze challengingly for long moments before suddenly licking Sam’s palm, making them both laugh.

“Okay, no, you’re right, you’re right.” Josh’s smile was as gorgeous as it was heartbreaking. “I do care about you though, Seaborn. You know that, don’t you?”

That felt more honest, and Sam nodded, shifting his hand to cup Josh’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly over his lips. “I do know that. And I appreciate it.” More than he knew how to express in words.

Josh grinned, and bit Sam’s thumb playfully. “Aaaand…?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “And I care about you too, asshole.” He slid his hand back to curl around the nape of Josh’s neck, pulling him down into a softer kiss. “God only knows why.”

“Meh, as long as you know, we’re good.” Josh slithered down from his perch, giving Sam ample time to figure out his intentions before sinking to his knees. The conversation might not be over, but as Sam allowed himself to be manhandled until he was leaning against the counter, he figured they were definitely done with talking for now.

~~~

**Houston, 2020**

“Did you _see_ the aurora last night?” Of course Josh didn’t say ‘hello’ like a normal person, already talking a mile a minute as Owen stepped from his car. “Wasn’t it incredible? I mean, we’d sometimes get the lights in Connecticut when I was a kid, but I never thought I’d see them this far south.”

Owen nodded along, locking up his car and waving hello to Matt who was leaning against the porch, smiling indulgently at Josh’s babbling. The Secret Service gate house he’d had to deal with had been expected but still weird, and Owen was very, very aware that there were eyes on him as he made his way up the driveway, from the security cameras dotted around the property to the agents lurking discreetly along the perimeter of the huge front yard. It was pretty intense, and Owen could only imagine it had been even more so when Matt was actually President.

“I guess work was pretty hectic for you though, huh?” Josh was still going, pulling Owen into an enthusiastic hug as soon as they were close enough, apparently unbothered by the motley assortment of dogs that swarmed around their legs. “They said on the news that everything went haywire with the solar storm thing - phones, radios, pretty much all of it.”

“It was a busy shift,” Owen agreed, returning the hug easily. It had only been a few months since Josh had crashed back in his life, and this was Owen’s first time visiting his and Matt’s Texas home despite repeated invites, but he’d already grown used to him again. “We got through it, though. How did you guys do over here?”

“Oh, the Secret Service were freaking _out_.” Josh kept his arm around Owen’s shoulders as he guided him up to the house, the dogs charging ahead of them. “No communications make them _very_ nervous - but it was fine, we made it - didn’t we, babe?”

Matt gave Josh an exaggeratedly patient look, then rolled his eyes at Owen. “We muddled through,” he said quietly, as calm and steady as Josh was boisterous. “It’s good to see you again, Owen. Everyone okay back in Austin?”

Owen nodded, returning Matt’s easy smile. “Thank you, yes.” He’d managed to drop the ‘sir’ during the numerous calls while TK was in the hospital, but somehow that wasn’t so easy in person, and he really had to work not to add it now. “TK ripped open his wound and needed a couple of stitches and a fresh course of antibiotics, but other than that, it was a good day at the office.”

“Oh god, is he okay? I thought he was on medical leave?” Josh’s genuine concern was as warm and sincere as the hug had been, and Owen couldn’t help but be touched by it.

“He is, and he was. He was getting brunch with Carlos when everything started going crazy, and he tried to help a bus driver who got trapped in her vehicle following a crash right by the café they were in.”

“Carlos being the hot cop boyfriend?”

Owen laughed. “Carlos being the hot cop boyfriend,” he agreed. “They had a bit of a wobble, but I’m pretty sure it’s all back on now.”

Matt was eyeing Josh sideways. “Do we need to have a conversation about this cop thing of yours?”

“We absolutely do not.” Josh gave him a sweet smile. “Anyway, why would I want a cop when I have the hottest marine reservist in the whole of the union to come home to?”

“You are so full of crap.” Matt’s tone was fond, though, and he pushed away from the porch easily enough to return the hug when Josh released Owen and went to wrap his arms around his husband.

Owen looked away, not embarrassed so much as trying to give them a momentary illusion of privacy. It was a lovely sunny day, and if he ignored all the security measures, the yard was beautiful - broad and sweeping in keeping with the style of the house, and filled with native Texan plants and blooms, as well as a scattering of tennis balls and other dog toys. One of the dogs - an aging Staffie - wandered up to sniff Owen’s hand, and he crouched to fuss him, quickly finding himself surrounded by the others and laughing at their enthusiastic inspection of him.

“You have a gorgeous home,” he said, somehow unsurprised to find Matt watching him when he glanced up at the couple. 

“Thank you.” Matt smiled, and nodded back towards the interior. “We’ll show you around properly later. But first - iced tea? Or would you prefer coffee?”

“Coffee sounds incredible.” Hey, his oncologist wouldn’t let him drink alcohol anymore - he had to take his pleasures where he could find them these days. 

The interior was just as smart as the outside, it turned out; less modern than Owen’s place back in Austin, and more lived in, even though Owen knew they spent at least half their time back up north. He vaguely remembered reading that they’d bought this house to be close to Matt’s kids when they were younger - and how odd was that, that he knew so many snippets about their lives from magazines and TV?

“You okay?” Josh asked, handing him his coffee in a faded old presidential campaign mug before guiding them all through to the living room. Like the hallway, it was smart without being pretentious, all real wood floors and furniture clearly chosen for comfort above all else. Mismatched, overflowing bookcases lined two walls - one definitely Josh’s from his old apartment in DC - with a large, solid dining table, piled high with papers and an amazingly fluffy cat, dominating the other end of the room.

Owen nodded, smiling at them both as he took a seat on the overstuffed couch. “I’m fine. It’s just - this is the first time I’ve been here, obviously, yet I feel like I know it already, from photoshoots and interviews.” Everything was familiar, from the quirkily stylish wallpaper on the far wall to the eclectic pile of home-knit afghans that went with nothing else in the room yet somehow fit perfectly. He even knew to look for the music corner, with its comfortable-looking armchairs and carefully-stored clarinet and ukulele, and the dog bed, currently crowded with three of the pack of five that had greeted him. “It’s a little weird, that’s all.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.” Josh wrinkled his nose, twisting to look around the room. “I’m, ah - when was the last time we redecorated, babe? I thought it was pretty recent, but maybe it was before the last time we had press here.” He waved his hand vaguely as he talked, narrowly avoiding hitting Matt, who just dodged easily and settled with one arm draped along the back of the loveseat behind Josh.

“Spring before last. Then you did that interview with OutSmart for Houston Pride last summer.” 

“Right, right.” The LGBTQ press loved Matt, but they _really_ loved Josh, and Owen had noticed a few times how if only one of them was featured it was usually the latter rather than the former. “Hey, that reminds me -” Josh jumped to his feet with the energy of a man half his age, grabbing a large leather-bound photo album from the nearest bookshelf and bringing it back to where they were sitting. “Speaking of photos.”

Owen accepted the album, placing his mug carefully out of wag-height on the coffee table before opening it. “What did you - oh my god.” The first photo was of Josh, aged about 25 and dressed for work, hair wild and hands waving, obviously mid-yelling about something at whoever was taking the picture. The next was more posed - Josh with his old team, piled on a bench outside a district bar that Owen couldn’t remember the name of, surrounded by similarly youthful staffers some of whom looked vaguely familiar. “This is how I remember you looking when we first -” He stopped himself, glancing up guiltily at Matt, who just grinned.

“Keep going. It gets better.” 

The next page was obviously a press clipping from something Josh’s boss had done, with Josh in the background looking serious and smart and a lot like a work experience kid surrounded by grown-ups. Then more candid photos - Josh dancing with a fellow-staffer whose name Owen had forgotten; Josh all starched and sexy at a black tie event; Josh sitting on the grass somewhere on the Mall, laughing at something off-camera. It was all painfully ‘80s, from the fashions through the quality of the film to the hairstyles. Everything Owen had left behind when he - when _Sam_ \- had run.

“I don’t remember people taking this many photos.” There’d been people around with cameras when he was younger, sure, especially at work events, but no-one tended to document random nights out the way they did now - and god, didn’t that thought make him feel ancient. 

Josh reached over and turned the page. “Remember that guy?”

Owen stared at the photo of himself and Josh, leaning on the hood of someone’s car, deep in conversation about who knew what. Their bodies were angled towards each other, heads tilted close, and while they weren’t actually touching everything about their body language screamed ‘we’re sleeping together’. “There’s no way I was ever that young,” he murmured, tracing his fingertips lightly over the page. “I look about twelve years old.”

“Hey!” Josh nudged his arm, dragging the album across for a closer look as Matt sniggered. “Give me some credit - you looked young, sure, but you definitely did not look prepubescent. Eww.” 

“Okay - eighteen, then.” Owen nudged him back. “Whatever way you look at it, I don’t look old enough to drink in this photo.”

“I will admit that you got carded a lot.” Josh flipped the next page, revealing another photo of the two of them, this time on what looked like the steps to the Capitol, with Sam sitting between Josh’s legs, Josh’s arms draped on his shoulders. They looked way more coupley than he ever remembered them acting in public.

“Y’all really thought you were being stealthy, huh.” Matt had moved without Owen noticing, perching on the back of the sofa behind them, sipping his coffee. 

“We really thought that.” Josh pointed at another photo on the same page. “I can't remember her name - like, Misha? Myra?”

“Mia.” Owen hadn’t even known he’d remembered that until he said it. “She was on Edwards’ staff with me.”

“Mia, right!” Josh nodded. “I went out drinking with her and - what was the black girl in your office called? Monique? After you ‘died’ -” and Owen could hear the air quotes “- a few of us went out and got drunk together. I think Mia went off to work on a campaign out west a few months after that, but Monique stuck around DC. She was something high up in the State department by the time Matt left office.”

Owen smiled. “Good for her.” He’d always liked Monique, and Mia, actually, although - “She was the one who used to call you my boyfriend.”

“Well, to be fair, she wasn’t wrong.” Matt reached over and turned the page, pointing at a photo in the upper right corner. “Here, this one’s my favorite. I have literally no idea how the two of you thought you were fooling anybody.”

It was another candid shot of the two of them at some kind of outside event on the Mall, with Sam’s arm draped around Josh’s shoulders. They were grinning at something or someone out of shot, not actually doing anything that could have been called suspicious, but there was no mistaking them for anything other than a couple, and a happy one at that.

Owen swallowed heavily, risking a glance at Josh and finding a small smile on his lips and a warm look in his eyes. 

“There’s more photos,” he said quietly. “But I think that one’s my favorite too.”

Owen held his gaze, then shook himself, reaching for his phone. “I should take snaps of some of these. TK’s been asking a bunch of questions, so I think he’ll get a kick out of seeing them. He doesn’t believe I was ever a WASP-y government drone.”

“Oh god, you totally were. I guess the whole -” Josh gestured vaguely at Owen “- this. I guess that was part of Witsec?”

“Kinda?” Owen kept flicking through the album, pausing now and then to look more closely at photos of him and Josh, or people he recognised. Thinking back, he hadn’t actually done much at all in the beginning beyond letting his hair grow out and switching his suits for jeans and button downs. “I spent my summers life-guarding on a beach and got really tan, then when I joined the fire department I was outdoors a lot, either training or working, so I bulked up and got less pasty, even in New York. I suppose that changed how I looked a fair amount.” Although obviously not that much, given how easily Josh had recognised him.

“You’ve definitely got more like - muscles and stuff.” Josh eyed him thoughtfully. “Not that you weren’t in shape when you were twenty-one, but I mean, I don’t think you could’ve carried me over your shoulder back then.”

Owen snorted. “Probably not, no. Although to be fair, I’ve lost a lot of weight and tone with the chemo.” Or more accurately, with the puking that followed the chemo and that still left him all weak and shaky. ”I’m training, still, but it’s rougher than it used to be.” He hadn’t admitted that to anyone, not even his doctor.

“Which would be why that whole - what was it called again? The timed equipment thing?”

“CPAT,” Matt supplied. “Yes, that was a bad idea, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, Owen. I was glad when Josh told me you’d decided against it.”

“I didn’t actually decide in the end - did I tell you guys what happened?” Two head shakes, and he reached for his coffee again, settling back to tell the story with the album still on his lap and one of the dogs leaning on his foot. “Oh man, it was _so_ stupid. And the stupidest part was, it could’ve been avoided entirely if people would just damn well _listen_ to me about not playing golf in the middle of thunderstorms…”

~~~

**Washington DC, 1988**

His apartment had been debugged, statement signed and on record with the task force, and the scant few possessions that he really couldn’t bear to part with packed in a small box for the Marshalls to hold onto until - sometime? Nobody could tell him when, although they all agreed it was likely to be years rather than months.

He’d dressed for work as usual that morning, gone about his day as if he’d be back the next, scheduled meetings and chatted with Mia and Monique about which dive bar they’d all go to after work on Friday, then bid them goodnight without so much as an extra hug to suggest he wouldn't be seeing them tomorrow.

The Marshalls would be _so_ proud of him.

Sam walked the familiar streets to Josh’s place, automatically scanning for people he recognised as the foot traffic grew lighter in the residential zone. It was just luck that he was getting this last evening at all; the Marshalls had coordinated his departure with the Task Force, and Sam’s preferences really hadn’t come into it.

“The more you know, the higher the chance that you’ll let something slip,” his handler had explained when he’d introduced Sam to the Marshall. Agent Casper - Mike - couldn’t have been more than a couple of years older than Sam, but he seemed so much more confident and steady. Good traits in a handler, Sam supposed, and he’d found himself trusting the other man’s word pretty quickly, despite knowing that Mike was still pretty junior in the Bureau.

He paused by the liquor store at the end of Josh’s street, tempted to go in and buy wine, champagne, anything that would make their last night special. But it was a Tuesday - given Josh’s complete inability to hold his alcohol they’d long ago instigated a ‘no drinking on a school night’ rule. Any deviation from that would be a big red flag, and Sam wasn’t sure he’d stand up to questions.

The key felt heavy in his hand as he let himself in, the knowledge that this was the last time he’d ever use it almost enough to make him turn right around and run back to Mike, to the Task Force, to tell them he was sorry but he couldn’t do this. Couldn’t give up his _life_ , for god’s sake, however ambivalent he was about his job.

“That you, Seaborn?” 

Sam closed the door behind him, still staring at the key in his hand.

“Nah - it’s the other guy you gave a key to,” he called back, injecting just the right amount of sarcasm into his voice, even as he impulsively hid the key behind the James Baldwin books on Josh’s bookcase. As hints went, it was pretty heavy-handed - bisexuals in New York? Seriously? That was the best he could do? 

But his chest felt lighter for doing it, his smile less forced as Josh appeared from the bathroom, one towel wrapped around his hips and rubbing his hair with another.

“Okay, but we’re gonna have to be quick - Seaborn’s coming over tonight and - oh, hey, Sam.” 

Sam laughed, momentarily surprised by how light and natural it sounded. “Hey yourself,” he murmured, shucking his tie and jacket and stepping further into the apartment to give Josh a hug. “Long day?” 

“Ugh, you have _no_ idea.” Josh draped the damp towel around Sam’s neck and used it to pull him into a lingering kiss. 

Sam went willingly, hands trailing up Josh’s arms, over his shoulders, before coming to tangle in his ridiculous hair. Hiding the key had been - freeing, somehow, and he was finding it easier than he’d expected to not think about tomorrow. To simply _be_ in the moment, to kiss and be kissed and just appreciate everything for what it was.

It was Josh who broke the kiss, nuzzling into Sam’s neck and just breathing against his skin in that way that never failed to make Sam’s knees go weak.

“You seem better,” he murmured.

“Better?”

“Yeah.” Josh pushed the towel aside, letting it drop to the floor while he worked on more of Sam’s shirt buttons. “This past little while you’ve been - tense or something. I dunno.”

Tense was definitely one word for it. Terrified, scared out of his mind, convinced he’d made the wrong decision in approaching the police in the first damn place - those were all good too.

“I’m sorry,” he said out loud, running his hand down Josh’s back. “I guess I’ve just had a few things on my mind.” This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to be having; he didn’t want to lie to Josh, but telling him the truth was out of the question.

Josh pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Sam’s gaze. “You’ll tell me when you can?” 

“Yes.” Who knew when that would be, but that he’d be honest one day, that much he could swear to. “I promise, I’ll tell you when I can.”

“Works for me,” Josh murmured, attention already back on divesting Sam of his clothes, and Sam lost himself in committing as much of the feel of him to memory as possible. Morning would come soon enough - there was no point ruining tonight with worry. Besides, Witsec wouldn’t be forever. And If he kept telling himself that, maybe at some point he’d even start to believe it.

~~~

**Houston, 2020**

The afternoon of stories and reminiscences slid into a cozy, comfortable evening, relaxed enough that by the time they’d cleared up from dinner, Owen was struggling to contain his yawns. He could never tell anymore if it was the job, his treatment or just his age making him tired. Possibly a combination of all three, although the warm weights of the dogs and the cat that had settled around him on the couch probably didn’t help much with staying awake either.

“I’ll show you up to your room,” Josh told him, helping him dislodge his new friends before ushering him towards the stairs and grabbing the overnight bag Owen had brought in earlier. “There’s an en suite bathroom, so like, feel free to shower or take a bath or whatever you’ve gotta do. And neither Matt nor I has anything before noon tomorrow, so if you wanna sleep late, that’s fine too, obviously.”

“Thanks, Josh.” Owen trailed after him, content to just follow and not be expected to talk too much.

Josh nodded, and opened a door at the end of a dimly-lit hallway for Owen to step through. The room it led into was inviting and lowkey stylish like the rest of the house, crammed with dark-stained wood furniture and comfortable-looking bedding, with a hotel-worthy en suite just visible through a door on the far wall. 

“There’s y’know, towels and toiletries and whatever.” Josh waved vaguely in the direction of said bathroom, before giving Owen a dimpled smile. “Although unless you had a wholesale personality overhaul when they gave you your new name, I’m guessing at least like, three quarters of the weight of this bag is skincare and hair stuff.”

Owen glared at him. “You know, you’re nowhere near as funny as you think you are, Lyman.” He grabbed the bag and set it on the bed, ignoring the fact that Josh wasn’t far off the mark with his estimate of its contents.

“I’m hilarious, and you know it.” He held his arm out in invitation. “C’mere and give me a hug, then get some rest.”

That Josh sounded just like Owen had when he fussed his crew wasn’t lost on him, but he went anyway, accepting the hug and holding onto it for long moments, just breathing Josh in.

“I really did miss you,” he murmured, smiling as he felt Josh’s arms tighten briefly around him.

“Me too.” Josh’s voice was low and intimate, the teasing tone completely gone, and it was the most natural thing in the world for Owen to turn his head just a little further and press a lingering kiss to the edge of Josh’s surprisingly not-rough jaw.

When Josh didn’t pull away immediately, Owen nuzzled closer, brushing his lips against Josh’s in a light, but unmistakably inviting kiss. It took longer than it should have for him to realise that Josh wasn’t so much ‘not pulling away’ as standing stock still, and very much _not_ responding.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Owen disentangled himself from the embrace and turned away, cheeks blazing. “That was _way_ out of line.” What the fuck was wrong with him? Sure, he still found Josh attractive, but he wasn’t a homewrecker, never had been. “Give me a few minutes to grab my stuff and I’ll -”

“Owen, stop.” Josh caught his hand, and tugged him in the direction of the bed. “Quit it with the self-flagellation a second, will ya? Come sit with me.” He sat down himself, patting the space next to him.

Owen went reluctantly, although he didn’t - couldn’t - make eye contact yet. Too embarrassed, too confused, and too angry with himself for taking advantage of Josh’s easy-going affection.

“I don’t even know why I did that,” he admitted eventually.

Josh nudged his side. “Sure you do, dumbass. I’m irresistible.” There was a definite smile in his voice, and Owen dragged his gaze away from the floor, getting more rather than less confused by Josh’s apparent lack of anger. “You think I haven’t thought about doing that exact same thing since the first time I saw you back in Austin?” He shook his head, still smiling. “I mean, you have seen you, right? You’re still freaking gorgeous, man, and I’m married, not dead.” A warm squeeze of Owen’s hand. 

“Thing is, though - that whole ‘married’ thing is important to me. I’ve never once cheated on Matt in all the years we’ve been together, and I’m not about to start now. Not even with you.”

“I didn’t think you would.” Owen sighed roughly, scrubbing his free hand through his hair. “I mean seriously, I have absolutely zero doubts how crazy you guys are about each other. You’re so -”

“Adorable together?”

“I was actually gonna say ‘nauseating’, but we can use your word, sure.” He grinned weakly, then sighed, dropping the tease. “Look honestly, for all that I’m - well, clearly I’m still attracted to you - I didn’t come here today with the intention of anything other than hanging out with people my own age for once.” He loved his son, and he loved his surrogate fire family, but at the end of the day they were still just kids.

“That’s all we wanted too.” Josh nudged his side again. “Well, not so much of the age thing, more of the ‘not in politics’ thing, to be honest. Do you have any idea how much Matt adores it that you stopped calling him ‘Mr. President’?”

“I can imagine.” It had to be a weird feeling, being surrounded by that kind of formality, especially for someone as personable and gregarious as Matt. “So okay, fine - we just blow right past this. Pretend it never happened.” He could do that.

Josh shook his head. “No. It happened, and I’m glad that it’s out there now - but I need you to understand that I’ll be telling Matt about it, and also that it’s never going to happen again.” He pressed his lips together, hesitating. “I grieved for you, you know that? When you didn’t show up to work that day, and nobody could get a hold of you, and then the police called your office and told them you’d been killed. I grieved for you.” 

Owen sighed. “I’m sorry I put you through that,” he admitted. “They made me sign a whole forest of paperwork to keep my mouth shut, and they never even told me what the story was going to be. The Marshals showed me a funeral announcement, years later, so I knew that they’d ‘killed’ me - but they mostly operated on the basis of the less I knew, the less I could screw anything up.”

“They told us the funeral was private.” Josh frowned, finally looking his age. “Only close family allowed. I tried to find out if there was, like, a headstone or memorial plaque or anything that I could go visit, but your parents…” He wrinkled his nose. “They just stonewalled me until I eventually gave up.”

“That - doesn’t surprise me in the least.” Owen smiled sadly. “And I’m guessing you couldn’t really talk about it at work either?”

Josh huffed a dry laugh. “Yeah, not so much. I mean, people knew that we were friends, so it wasn’t weird that I was upset, but - yeah, I had to be careful what I said.” He paused, smoothing his thumb back and forth across Owen’s knuckles where their hands were still joined. “I never talked about it much until a few years later, when I became friendly with an FBI agent who’d been part of the drugs task force. Some things she said made me go back and look at the newspaper archives from around the time you ‘died’.”

Which just confirmed what Owen had suspected; Josh had had contacts. “What did you find?”

“Oh, things like how a major player in the South American trafficking scene had been the landlord of several buildings in your old neighborhood, and how he’d been taken down in an operation not long after you were supposed to have been killed. And how the case was complicated by the fact that the trafficker didn’t speak a whole lot of English, and all the people in his buildings recalled hearing him shouting sometimes, but they could only tell the police that it sounded like Spanish.”

Owen snorted softly. “And you remembered that night with them arguing, the first time you came to my place.” He shook his head. “But that doesn’t explain how you knew I wasn’t really dead. His gang could easily have made me as an informant and killed me for real.” It had happened to others, and he’d known when he’d first approached the police with what he’d heard that it was something that could have happened to him.

“They could have - but then, there was the shiva basket when my dad died.” Josh’s eyes were damp, voice quiet, but his smile didn’t falter. “We got quite a lot, and we could account for all except one of them, which my mom figured was just an accidental duplicate. Only it wasn’t from the same store as any of the others.” He shrugged lightly. “Wishful thinking, maybe, but combined with what I’d read in those newspapers, I was suspicious enough that when Bartlett won the nomination and we suddenly got a bunch of extra Secret Service protection, I approached one of the agents and asked him to see what he could find out.”

“That was what - ninety-eight?” Owen frowned, thinking back. “I was married to Lisa by then, finishing up my bachelor’s so I could go for Captain. TK would’ve been _five_.” It felt like forever ago, but also like it was just yesterday. “Actually, it was because of Lisa that I heard about your dad.” It had come up in one of their previous conversations that she was a lawyer. “She only told me about it in passing, not realising that I knew him.” 

“He and mom really liked you, you know.” Josh huffed a soft laugh. “Nobody I was with after you ever quite measured up - although I reckon my dad would’ve liked Matt. Mom definitely did.”

“He would have loved him,” Owen said firmly. “I’m sorry that I got to meet him and Matt didn’t, though. Your father was a - he was a really, really good man.”

“Yeah, he was.” They both took a moment, then Josh squeezed Owen’s hand again. “Anyhoo - I thought about looking for you for real after I got shot. Being confronted with your own mortality really makes you think through your life choices, you know?”

Owen snorted at that. “Funnily enough I actually do know, and yes, it does. I was tempted to do the same after 9/11 with you, especially when things with Lisa started going south.” He paused, frowning. “Which sounded a lot less creepy in my head. What I _meant_ was that I was in a really crappy place, my entire crew had just been killed, and I found myself desperately missing my best friend.”

“I knew what you meant.” Josh shot him a small smile. “I’m actually kinda glad that I didn’t know until afterwards that you were in New York that day - I was enough of a basket case as it was, trying to track down everybody I cared about, without knowing you were literally right there at Ground Zero.”

“Who told you?” Owen asked. He’d considered trying to get some kind of ‘I’m okay’ message to Josh, but he’d decided against it in the end, not least because it wouldn’t have been wholly accurate.

“The Secret Service Agent I’d approached on the campaign trail.” Josh shook his head. “For some reason he remembered your name, and he stopped me a couple days afterwards in work and told me that the friend I’d asked him about years ago was still alive.” He snorted softly. “It took me like, a half a day to work out what the hell he was talking about. From there it wasn’t a big stretch to figure out that you had to be either living, working or both in New York.” 

Owen smiled, then had to cover a sudden yawn with his free hand, and wow, yeah - he’d been exhausted when they’d initially come up here, hadn’t he. “Then you decided to make a real go of it with Matt, and the rest, as they say…”

“Pretty much,” Josh agreed, releasing Owen’s hand finally and pushing to his feet with a quiet ‘oof’. “The weirdest thing though - when I came to tidy my apartment, make space for his stuff, I found your old key on the bookcase behind my James Baldwin books.”

“That _is_ weird.” Quite apart from anything else, it said something about how often Josh dusted his shelves.

Josh smiled. “Yeah, I figured you’d have no idea how that had gotten there.” He held Owen’s gaze, eyes warm with no hint of regret. “And now, I think it’s time for good little fire captains to get ready for bed.”

“When you’re right, you’re right.” Owen took a moment to find the energy to stand as well, giving Josh a slightly uncertain smile as he did so. “Josh - are we okay?” The kiss, the conversation, the thirty-odd year absence - they’d covered a hell of a lot of ground, and not just tonight.

“We’re gonna be.” Josh’s grin was wide and absolutely confident, and Owen couldn’t help but match it with one of his own. “Sweet dreams, Strand.”

“You too, Lyman.” The door closed, leaving Owen staring at it for long moments before he headed for the bathroom and his bedtime routine. Loud laughter drifted up from the staircase, Josh’s voice raised in good-humored complaint about the dogs and Matt’s unintelligible but equally-playful sounding answer, and Owen smiled at his own reflection in the mirror. Josh was right; whatever happened - whatever _had_ happened in the past - they were all gonna be just fine.

END.

**Author's Note:**

> So I started out the pandemic rewatching The West Wing, then saw 911: Lone Star and this AU just landed in my head. I tried to stay as close to canon as I could for the latter, but even that's about to be jossed with the new series and the introduction of TK's mom. OH WELL. It is what it is.
> 
> Big thank you to jadesfire2808 for an early beta and hand-holding - any remaining mistakes are entirely on me, as I couldn't stop fussing with it after she'd seen it. It's self-indulgent nonsense, of course, but I enjoyed writing it and if even one other person out there enjoys reading it, that'd be awesome <3
> 
> Title is from the lyrics to 'With Or Without You' by U2:
> 
> "Through the storm, we reach the shore  
> You give it all but I want more  
> And I'm waiting for you"


End file.
